


The Immunity Syndrome

by Soledad



Series: The Lost Voyages of the Next Generation [2]
Category: Star Trek: The Next Generation
Genre: Gen, Mysterious Alien Diseases, Pulaski Is Cool, Somebody Alwas Needs Supplies, Survey Missions Are Risky
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-25
Updated: 2018-02-17
Packaged: 2018-12-06 19:27:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 27,207
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11607402
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Soledad/pseuds/Soledad
Summary: TheEnterpriseis to bring supplies to the USSBeagle, a science vessel surveying the previously uncharted Morgana Sector. All contacts to the Beagle break up before their arrival, though, and they have to find out what happened. Based on a story idea by JD Kurtz. Set in early Season 2, right after the episode “The Child”.Beta read by my dear friend, Linda Hoyland, whom I owe my gratitude.





	1. Prelude

**PRELUDE**

**Captain’s Log, Stardate 42053.7  
** Linus Haye recording.  
The USS _Beagle_ is in her death throes. All our efforts to contain the madness that has been spreading on board failed. If the survey team down on the planet’s surface doesn’t come up with a solution soon, death will be our only hope for freedom… 

The characteristic sound of the intercom interrupted his recording. It was Commander Bora Aksu, his executive officer – usually a man of unshakable calm. Right now he sounded almost hysterical.

“ _Captain, it is spreading exponentially! We won’t be able to hold out here much longer!_ ”

Commander Aksu and a few security guards who were unaffected (so far) by the madness had fled to the Auxiliary Control Room and sealed the doors closed. Command was rerouted there after the Bridge had been overrun and Captain Haye got trapped in his Ready Room.

“ _They have a phaser torch with them_ ,” Aksu continued. “ _With that, they’ll have cut through the doors in ten minutes, tops. Maybe twelve, if we are_ very _lucky. Captain, we can’t allow the madness to spread over to other ships_ – or _to any inhabited worlds. If we can’t stop it, at least we’ll have to kill it. Even if it means to kill_ us.”

“I know that, Commander,” Haye looked at the sweaty, bearded face of his executive officer. Aksu, too, was clearly affected and held on to his sanity by sheer, stubborn willpower. No, there was no way to save the crew; but they might be able to prevent others from sharing the same fate.

“Very well, Commander,” he said with a sigh. “Give me external sensors and blow the hatches as long as we can.”

“ _Aye, sir_ ,” Aksu paused for a moment before adding. “ _If I may say so, Captain… it’s been an honour to serve with you._ ”

“Likewise, Commander,” Haye replied. “I regret that it had to end like this. All right then, you have your orders. Let us not waste what little time we may still have.”

“ _Understood, sir_.” 

The image of Bora Aksu vanished from the screen, giving room to the external view. Captain Haye watched dispassionately as every hatch of his ship exploded out, taking the atmosphere from within with them.

The USS _Beagle_ died, preserved for all eternity in the empty void.


	2. Frozen, Part One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Daliwakans are an alien race. Their only representative, a French/Daliwakan half-bred was the gigolo in Tom Paris’ Sandrine’s holoprogram. Ensign Hodel is “played” by Sendhil Ramamurthy, just for the exotic touch. Ensign Nagel’s only appearance was in the 2nd season TNG episode “Peak Performance”.
> 
> The _Enterprise_ was on its way to the Morgana Quadrant at the beginning of the 2nd season episode “Where Silence Has Lease”. However, this was at a time where the Milky Way Galaxy’s partition into 4 quadrants hadn’t been conceived yet. I changed the original 'quadrant' to 'sector', in order to avoid any misunderstandings.

*** * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
CHAPTER ONE – FROZEN**

**PART ONE**

**_Captain’s Log, Stardate: 42082.4  
Jean-Luc Picard recording_ **

**_We are on a long reach toward the Morgana Sector, a section of the galaxy which is being visited for the first time by a manned vessel of the Federation. We are scheduled to rendezvous with said vessel, the USS Beagle, to bring them supplies._ **

**_As the_ Beagle _is an older research vessel with lesser warp capacity than the_ Enterprise, _Starfleet ordered us to save them the long way back to the closest Federation colony for dilithium crystal replacements, so we are bringing them the replacements. Our assistant chief engineer, Mr Singh has been assigned to the difficult task of replacing the_ Beagle _’s damaged crystals outside a drydock._**

**_Unfortunately, all contact with the_ Beagle _has been mysteriously lost for the last two days. Commander Riker had hailing frequencies opened and scanner sweeps performed, all to no avail. Our only hope is to go to the ship’s last reported position and save anyone who might be left. At the moment we have no clues what has happened, but I am not very optimistic about the outcome. Computer, end recording._**

The computer obediently _ping_ ed and saved the log entry. Picard touched his comm badge.

“Report, Number One.”

 *** * * * * * * * * * * * * * * ***  
Deanna Troi, counselor aboard the Starship _Enterprise_ , stood at a viewport and was gazing at the stars. They were utterly still – cold, harsh lights without a planet’s atmosphere to make them twinkle. She had sought out this empty corridor and its fine view of stars because she wanted a few minutes to compose herself before going to the Bridge.

She had not felt quite herself since her unusual pregnancy and the recent loss of her strange alien ”child” – a non-corporeal life form of pure energy that had wanted to experience human life and chose her to be his “mother”. Ian had died at the apparent physiological age of about eight standard years, but a chronological age of only a few days, when the energy entity learned it was emitting a form of radiation that seriously threatened the crew.

Deanna knew, of course, that the essence of what had been her son was still very much alive; that only the corporeal form that it had once inhabited was dead. It did not truly lessen her debilitating loss, though, and she had been struggling ever since to keep up her professional appearance. 

Which was why she was standing here, contemplating the stars. She wanted to take their unperturbed peace with her to the Bridge. Her personal problems did not matter when she was on duty. The ship’s counselor had to be calm, relaxed, ready to serve.

“What are you looking at, Counselor?”

Had anyone else spoken to her unexpectedly, she would have been startled. But Mikal Holden was a half-bred like herself, and she could feel a gentle mental brush against her mind – like a friendly greeting – well in advance.

She turned around and smiled up into the beautiful face of the man in delight. He was one of the very few people on board who could make her instantly relax.

“I was gazing at the stars and thinking how lovely they are,” she replied.

“They _are_ pretty,” Hodel agreed. “But not half as pretty as you are, Counselor.”

“Flatterer!” She slapped his upper arm playfully and they both laughed. She was an empath, he a short-range telepath, due to his mixed heritage (one of his parents was a Daliwakan), and so they both knew that he was merely paying her a friendly compliment without any hidden agenda.

Besides, he already had multiple spouses according to Daliwakan custom and no intention of gaining a new one right now. Neither was Deanna interested in him _that_ way, although she had to admit that he was almost devastatingly good-looking. With his bronze skin, large, liquid dark eyes and wavy jet-black hair (inherited from his Hindu mother) and that graceful row of delicate ridges down the middle of his forehead (less prominent than in full-blooded Daliwakans) he could have put the statue of any Hindu deity to shame.

Their friendly banter was interrupted by the disembodied voice of Captain Picard coming through the comm system.

“ _Counselor Troi, please report to the Bridge immediately_.”

She touched her comm badge. “I’m already on my way, Captain,” then she looked at Hodel. “You’re coming, too?”

He nodded. “I’m on Alpha Shift in this cycle. But why would you be called to the Bridge so urgently? We are still at least a week’s travel from the Morgana Sector.”

Deanna shrugged. “I don’t know. We’ll learn when we reach the Bridge, I suppose.”

They were hurrying to the nearest turbolift; she had to quick-step to keep up with him.

“Perhaps a distress call,” Hodel commented; then, inside the smooth whiteness of the lift cabin, he raised his voice just a bit. “Bridge!”

The lift vibrated and began to move.

“Unlikely, in this area of space,” from earlier briefings Deanna knew that no other ships had been dispatched on this route, save for the automated survey probes, and _those_ hardly ever sent out distress calls.

Still, something must have happened. Even in the lift, she could feel Captain Picard’s agitation. He was clearly worried – and that worried her, too. The captain wasn’t a man who would lose his calm easily, so this had to be something serious. 

She did not share her findings with Hodel, of course. Since she could read the emotions of everyone on board, it was simple courtesy _not_ to reveal what she felt to others. It would have been like telling secrets you had learned eavesdropping.

Fortunately, Daliwakans also had strict rules about reading the thoughts of other people uninvited, so she didn’t have to worry about Hodel. She sometimes wished her own mother would be half this discreet. But discretion wasn’t one of Ambassador Lwaxana Troi’s virtues.

The turbolift door wooshed open and the bridge of the _Enterprise_ spread out before them, all graceful curves and neutral carpeting. She though, not for the first time since coming aboard, that it looked more like an executive boardroom than the bridge of a starship.

Surprisingly enough, Captain Picard was not present on the Bridge yet. The captain had developed the custom of staying in his Ready Room lately and leaving simple daily business in the capable hands of one of his senior officers.

Theoretically, Commander Data would have command during Gamma Shift, since as an android he didn’t need sleep and didn’t have to fight exhaustion during the simulated board night as humans – or other organic beings – would have. His presence on the so-called graveyard shift was an advantage few other starships had, unless they were manned by Vulcans.

At the moment, however, Commander Riker was sitting in the command chair and Data was working at Science Station One, which was situated on the elevated platform directly aft of the command area, together with another science station, the tactical control station and workstations for Mission Operations, Environment and Engineering.

Mikal Hodel went straight to the latter, relieving Ensign Liz Clancy who had been on Gamma Shift duty, while Deanna joined Will Riker in the command area.

“What’s happened?” she asked.

“We’ve almost reached the last reported position of the Beagle,” the executive officer explained. “We’re about to launch a probe to find out what we’re going to face, once we actually are there,” he nodded to Ensign Nagel at Tactical. “Launch the probe, Ensign.”

“Aye, sir,” Nagel touched a few controls on her panel and then reported simply, “Probe’s on its way, Commander.”

“Good,” Riker swivelled the command chair back to the large, floor-to-ceiling viewscreen at the very front of the bridge chamber. “Let’s see what we’ve got here!”

At first all they saw was a large chunk of empty space, with distant stars scattered over it. Then, as the probe picked up speed, a small, dark shape appeared in the centre of the screen. It looked like some sort of saucer with two thin, cylindrical applications on its underside – the unmistakable silhouette of a _Miranda_ -class starship.

“Magnify!” Riker ordered.

Data looked up from his readings. “We are already on maximal magnification, Commander. For a higher definition the probe has to get closer.”

“It does look like a _Miranda_ -class starship, though,” Geordi LaForge, who had just relieved Lieutenant Josh Carey at the comm, commented.

Riker nodded. “Which only makes sense, as _Miranda_ -class vessels are regularly used for both performing various scientific roles to conducting patrol duties. Sending a small science vessel into largely uncharted terrain would be too risky. Is the ship transmitting an ID code?”

Nagel checked; then she shook her head. “No, sir. Neither can the probe register any system activities on board. Whether this vessel is the _Beagle_ or not, she is definitely dead in space.”

“But what could have damaged her so badly?” Ensign Haskell, currently sitting at the ops position, added in bewilderment. “There are neither hostile species nor dangerous cosmic phenomena reported from this sector.”

“Just because there hasn’t been any reported yet, it doesn’t mean they can’t exist,” the executive officer reminded him. “Don’t forget that the Federation hasn’t charted known space beyond the farthest systems of the Taurus Sector,” he swivelled the command chair around and looked at Nagel. “Put the ship on yellow alert, Ensign,” then he swivelled back and hit his comm badge. “Riker to Picard.”

“ _Go ahead, Number One_ ,” Picard’s voice answered.

“Captain, I think you should come to the Bridge.”

“ _On my way_ ,” the connection broke and they all waited for their commanding officer to arrive.

 *** * * * * * * * * * * * * * * ***  
By the time Picard stepped out to the Bridge, the rest of Alpha Shift had arrived to take over their workstations and he probe had got close enough to the other ship that they could read the huge black letters on top of the saucer section: **USS BEAGLE**.

“Well, that answers _one_ question,” Picard said with a sigh. “It _is_ the _Beagle_ all right. Now, the next question is: what happened to her?”

“Unknown, Captain,” Data replied. “In fact, there is no visible damage to the ship; or any radiation residue trailers.”

“I see,” Picard thought about those facts for a moment. “In that case we have no other choice than to take a look ourselves. Mr LaForge, how long will it take until we reach the _Beagle_?”

“At current speed another twenty-five minutes, Captain.”

“Good,” Picard said, “that gives us time for a quick briefing. Number One, summon the department heads to the observation lounge.”

“Aye, sir,” Riker touched his comm badge. “This is Commander Riker to all department heads. Report to the observation lounge for mission briefing immediately.”

Before the senior officers already present on the Bridge could have followed his orders, Worf – now in his customary place at Tactical – looked up from his console with a frown.

“Captain, I’m picking up a message from the _Beagle_.”

“ _Now_?” The captain was understandably surprised – and he wasn’t the only one.

The Klingon nodded his massive head. “Yes, sir. For some reason it wasn’t sent on a subspace channel, only as a localised transmission, which is why it couldn’t reach us earlier. According to the time stamp, it is two days old.”

“Two days ago did we lose contact with the _Beagle_ ,” Riker said softly, recognising the possible ramifications.

Picard nodded. “This is hardly a coincidence. Let us hear it, Mister Worf!”

“It is audio only,” Worf said apologetically, switching the message to loudspeakers. A moment later a deep, somewhat rough male voice filled the Bridge.

 _Captain’s Log, Stardate 42053.7_  
Linus Haye recording.  
The USS Beagle _is in its death throes. All our efforts to contain the madness that has been spreading on board failed. If the survey team down on the planet’s surface doesn’t come up with a solution soon, death will be our only hope for freedom…_

The message ended with an explosive sound – and then silence.

“Captain,” Data was the first to find his voice after the long moment of shock. “What we just heard is, well... impossible.”

“What do you mean?” the captain asked.

“I believe that last sound we heard was an emergency hatch being blown,” the android explained quietly. “I could hear the hiss of empty air before the transmission broke up.”

Picard looked at him aghast. “Are you certain... yes, of course you are,” he corrected himself. “Well, that’s one more reason to consider our next step very carefully. Mr Worf, as soon as we come within sensor range, start scanning the _Beagle_ for life signs. Perhaps somebody _has_ managed to bring themselves to safety. Briefing in ten minutes.”

 *** * * * * * * * * * * * * * * ***  
Right on time, the senior officers of the _Enterprise_ congregated in the observation lounge – a room with large windows and a spectacular view at the stars that was generally used for briefings when more than just two or three people were present and the captain’s Ready Room would have been too crowded for such purposes.

This time it was quite the crowd indeed. Chief Engineer Argyle brought Lieutenant Sing with him, whose task would have been to replace the _Beagle_ ’s damaged dilithium crystals and was therefore personally interested, and Dr Pulaski brought Dr Selar, who usually stood in for her on away missions, as the chief medical officer avoided using the transporter whenever she could. Thus there were as many as ten people sitting around the long conference table.

“Sensor scan now reveals no life signs aboard the _Beagle_ , Captain,” Worf reported.

Picard nodded grimly. After what they had heard in Captain Haye’s last transmission, that wasn’t really a surprise, despite his faint hopes that at least a handful of the crew might have reached the escape pods.

“What can you tell me about the _Beagle_ , Data?” he then asked.

The android blinked a few times, accessing his internal database.

“She is one of the oldest _Miranda_ -class vessels still in operation, sir,” he replied. “She was implemented in the early 2270s – in 2272, to be more precise – and was used predominantly as a long-range research vessel, with missions that lasted from six months to two years, respectively.”

“So old?” Picard said in surprise. “No wonder she needed dilithium crystal replacements.”

“Actually, she has undergone upgrades to her warp nacelles and to impulse engine systems in late 2337,” Data said. “Many of the older _Miranda_ -class ships have.”

“Yes, but that was almost thirty years ago,” Chief Engineer Argyle pointed out. “She must be in a fairly battered shape by now. I suggest that a diagnostic engineer should go with the Away Team, Captain.”

“Agreed. Whom do you suggest?”

“Ensign Hodel,” the chief engineer said without hesitation. “He is comfortable with working in a spacesuit, which will be necessary, at least until we can seal the hatches with force fields and re-establish minimal life support.”

“Wearing protective gear would also be useful in case that there are any contaminants on board,” Dr Pulaski added.

“Are you going with the Away Team, doctor?” Picard asked.

The chief medical officer shook her head. “Doctor Selar has my complete confidence. I’ll prepare the morgue for the autopsies and take over from there.”

Picard accepted her decision without further argument. It was well within her rights as the chief medical officer to delegate responsibilities as she saw fit and besides, considering that the crew of the _Beagle_ was obviously dead, her presence wasn’t necessary.

The captain turned to Data. “What about the crew?”

“The _Beagle_ had a standard crew complement of thirty-four, with ten to sixteen additional scientists assigned to her respective missions,” the android replied. “The current crew manifest lists forty-six people aboard, eight of them civilians on temporary assignment,”

“Any families?” Troi asked. “Children?”

Data shook his head. “None.”

“Well, that’s at least some relief,” the captain said. “Can me tell something about the senior staff?”

“Captain Linus Haye is – _was_ – a sixth generation citizen of the Walhalla Colony and had a twenty-seven-year-long career as a Starfleet officer, serving mostly on scout ships and survey vessels until he took command of the _Beagle_ nine years ago,” Data said. “His executive officer, Commander Bora Aksu, hails from Cestus Three and started his Starfleet career as a security officer before going to command school. He was assigned to the _Beagle_ seven point two years ago.”

“Walhalla is a tundra world with a gravity of one point four G compared to the Earth norm, if I’m not mistaken,” Riker said thoughtfully.

“That is correct, Commander.”

“And on Cestus Three, the colonists live in close quarters to the Gorn,” the first officer continued. “Harsh and demanding environments, both of them. People coming from such places don’t panic easily. Whatever happened aboard the _Beagle_ , it had to be really disastrous.”

“That sounds likely,” Dr Pulaski agreed. “Was it an all-human crew? Older, smaller ships tend to have personnel that belong to the same species.”

“The standard crew consisted of thirty humans, a Bolian security chief, two Tellarite engineers and a Betazoid chief medical officer who also served as the ship’s counselor and their xenobiologist,” Data replied. “The twelve temporary assignments were scientists from all over the Federation, including Andorians, Benzites, Vulcans and even a Tiburonian astrophysicist of some renown.” He blinked again. “Inquiry, doctor: does the racial combination of the crew play an important role?”

“If we are dealing with a contaminant then yes, it does,” Dr Selar said in her immediate superior’s stead. “Andorians are partially insectoid by their genetic make-up. Benzites have descended from amphibian ancestors. Bolians and Tellarites are a great deal tougher than the average humans.”

“Andorian blood is based on cobalt,” Dr Pulaski added. “Vulcan blood is based on copper. And yet all these people were affected by… whatever it was that made Captain Haye kill himself and his entire crew rather than succumb to it.”

“Are we risking contamination?” Riker frowned in concern.

Pulaski shrugged. “It’s hard to tell before we’d have the chance to take any readings. Theoretically, since the atmosphere was blown out of the _Beagle_ , the vacuum of space should have neutralised any such threat, but we can never be sure.”

“What do you suggest, doctor?” Picard asked.

“Full decontamination when the Away Team gets back and a Level Four quarantine afterwards, just to be on the safe side,” she answered promptly.

“Which type of space suits would you suggest for the Away Team to wear?” Riker asked.

“Emergency pressure garments,” Dr Selar answered instead of her boss. “With the emergency hatches of the _Beagle_ all blown out, low-pressure environmental suits would not suffice.”

“The EPG is capable of supporting life for two hours in most ship abandonment or isolated hull breach situations,” Dr Pulaski added, somewhat unnecessarily, since this was basic knowledge for all Starfleet personnel.

“I don’t intend to spend two hours or more aboard the _Beagle_ ,” Riker said with a grimace, “but we can always ask for an emergency beam-out, should we run out of time.”

“I’d like to avoid repeated transfers between the two ships,” Pulaski replied. “That would raise the risk of contamination exponentially.

“In that case we’ll try to work quickly and efficiently,” Riker retorted.

He wasn’t a fan of their new chief medical officer who refused to be either charmed or intimidated by him and didn’t even try to hide his dislike. The fact that the doctor blithely ignored his ill-veiled hostility only made things worse.

“That would be prudent indeed,” Picard intervened, fed up with the constant bickering between his first officer and his chief medical officer – something that had been going on ever since Katherine Pulaski first set foot aboard the _Enterprise_. Admittedly, it was rather one-sided, started by Riker most of the time.

“Have you assembled your Away Team, Number One?” he asked.

Riker nodded. “Doctor Selar, Mr Singh and Ensign Hodel have already been assigned by their immediate superiors, so I’m taking Data and Lieutenant Eakins. We’ll probably need a med tech, too,” he looked at Selar.

“Crewman Ames is on schedule,” the Vulcan told him, off the top of her head.

 _Show-off_ , Riker thought, but out loud he only said, “Crewman Ames it is, then.”

“Commander,” Worf spoke up for the first time. “Request permission to join the Away Team.”

He was clearly eager to beam over to the potentially dangerous, damaged ship. Riker, however, turned him down.

“Denied. There’s no-one alive aboard the _Beagle_ , neither friend nor foe, and Data is more than capable of forcing open any blocked doors. If it was a disease that forced Captain Haye to blow open the hatches, there’s nothing you can do in hindsight.”

“And if they were attacked by some hostile force?” demanded the Klingon.

“Then the attackers might still be around, and in that case you’ll be needed at the weapons controls,” Riker returned.

That was an argument Worf couldn’t counter, so he reluctantly accepted the first officer’s decision.

“All right, people,” Riker said, “let’s gear up and do this.” He looked at the captain. “With your permission, sir.”

“Granted,” Picard stood and yanked down his uniform jacket. “Briefing dismissed.”

 *** * * * * * * * * * * * * * * ***  
By that time the _Enterprise_ had come within transporter range of the _Beagle_ , and the members of the Away Team met in Transporter Room Three, wearing EPG suits. Like their low-pressure counterparts, these suits were designed for airless operations and featured simplified multilayer construction, affording atmospheric integrity and gas exchange, as well as thermal and humidity control, without sacrificing mobility.

Circulation equipment was mounted within an integral backpack, with controls placed on the chest and forearm areas, and the suits were equipped with magnetic boots as well, in case the artificial gravity was nonexistent. Theoretically, such a suit allowed for exterior operations, although, as Dr Pulaski had said, time outside was limited to two hours.

Even Data was wearing an EPG suit. No matter how sturdy his construction, he was not indestructible. His organic components did make him vulnerable to a very few, very specific sorts of pathogens. It was better not to take any unnecessary risks.

He, Assistant Chief Engineer Singh and Ensign Hodel were carrying tricorders, already set to recording mode. Dr Selar and her assistant, Crewman Ames, had medkits slung over their shoulders, even though there was very little chance that anybody aboard the _Beagle_ would need medical assistance. Riker was armed with a Type II hand phaser, while Lieutenant Eakins was carrying a large phaser rifle of considerable firepower, just in case.

“Put us on their bridge, Chief,” Riker said to O’Brien, but the good-natured Irishman shook his head.

“I wouldn’t recommend it, sir. Life support systems are not functioning in that area, and scans indicate that the bridge is depressurised.”

“Then put us in the main corridor,” Riker said, a little impatiently. “Mr Singh, Lieutenant Eakins, Ensign Hodel and me will go first, the others with the second group.”

“Somebody really should come up with a way to add more spotlights to the transporter platform,” Hodel complained. “This is tedious – and can be dangerous if time is an issue.”

“Feel free to come up with the design, Ensign, and I’ll support it,” Riker stepped onto the platform where the other three were already waiting and looked at O’Brien. “Energize!”

O’Brien slid an expert hand over the controls, and in the next moment they were carried away by four identical columns of amber light.


	3. Frozen, Part Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A few lines of dialogue have been borrowed from the similarly themed 1st season episode “The Naked Now”, basically for the authentic technobabble. This is still a very different story, though. 
> 
> Details about starship systems are taken from “The Next Generation Technical Manual” and from the “Ex Astris Scientia” website, respectively, as well as from the Memory Alpha Wiki.
> 
> Crewman Ames, while not a commissioned officer, is a doctor on his own right. I decided that he would be the same one whom Pulaski explained how to make a splint in the 2nd season episode “Contagion” – just to give him a canon face.

**CHAPTER ONE - FROZEN  
PART TWO**

Moments later the Away Team materialized in the main corridor of the Beagle and they looked around warily. The sight wasn’t promising. There were signs of phaser burn marks on the bulkheads, and the ship was eerily quiet. Not even the usual low hum of working equipment could be heard. As somebody had put it earlier, the _Beagle_ was dead in space.

Riker was the first to pull himself together.

“Cover the ship as planned,” he ordered. “Mr Singh, Crewman Hodel, go to Engineering and try to bring the engines back online. Lieutenant Eakins, go with them. Doctor Selar, Crewman Ames, Sickbay. Data, you with me, We’ll go to the bridge and try to download their records. Move out.”

The team broke up, heading in different directions. They had no time to waste; their EPG suits could only provide them with a safe environment for two hours, and since the turbolifts weren’t working, getting to Sickbay and especially to Engineering promised to be a difficult task.

Riker and Data proceeded to the bridge, which happened to be behind the door at the end of the corridor. The door was shut, but there was a small viewscreen set in the wall beside it.

“Oh, good,” Riker said with relief. “If this thing works, be sure to record whatever it shows.”

He activated the viewscreen, took a look… and groaned. 

What the screen offered them was a narrow view of a small bridge; mostly controls, but also a command chair, with a body frozen to it. Beyond these, they could see the emergency hatch set in the bulkhead. The hatch was gone, and the cold glitter of a starfield winked behind it.

There were no loose objects visible, only items that were firmly anchored to deck or bulkhead. Everything loose had been swept into space when the air rushed out into vacuum. The frozen body in the command chair – based on the rank insignia likely that of the ship’s executive officer – was the only exception.

Riker stepped aside, gesturing to Data to record the scene on the viewer.

“You were right,” he commented grimly. “Somebody blew the hatch and they were all sucked out into space – well, except the first officer, it seems.”

“Correction, sir, _blown_ out,” the android remarked.

Riker rolled his eyes. “Thank you, Data.”

“A common mistake, sir...” as usual Data wasn’t getting the ironic undertone.

“I _know_!” Riker snapped, suppressing his impatience with some effort. “Now, do you think we can risk entering their bridge? Can we do so without the engines working?”

“Manual override should still be functional, sir,” Data was already opening the panel next to the door and tuned the lever – that was frozen solid – into the right position with superhuman strength. The door reluctantly opened and they walked in, their magnetic boots keeping them firmly on the floor, despite the lack of artificial gravity.

Riker headed to the command chair to take a look at the frozen body in it. The late executive officer of the _Beagle_ was a short, compact man in his middle years, with an almost completely bald head, a surprisingly big, bushy black beard and small, dark eyes that were now open and glassy. His round face was frozen in shock but didn’t show any traces of panic and rage. He had clearly been prepared what was coming. 

Based on Captain Haye’s last log entry the first officer had been privy to the captain’s fatal decision and agreed with it. Haye must have been trusted him unconditionally – and rightly so, it seemed.

“But how come that he wasn’t blown out into space with the rest of the bridge crew?” Riker wondered.

“Probably as a result of depressurizing,” Data suggested. “The angle of the command chair shows that it was with its back to the hatch when that was blown out. Perhaps the records will show something.”

“Try to download them, with the rest of their saved data.”

“Aye, sir,” Data moved over to the library computer console

In the next moment Riker’s comm badge beeped.

“ _Commander Riker, this is Lieutenant Eakins, location Engineering. Ten people here, sir, all frozen. No vital signs._ ”

Riker touched his comm badge. “Are the hatches blown out there, too?”

“ _No, sir. Mr Singh says they must have been malfunctioning. Quite a few systems here are damaged beyond repair._ ”

“Why on Earth are those people frozen, then?”

“ _Looks to me like someone was playing with the environmental controls, sir. Just let all the heat bleed away into space_ ,” the voice of Mikal Holden said.

Riker shook his head. “That is ridiculous!”

“ _That's what_ I said _, sir_ ,” Eakins commented, “ _but both Mr Singh and Crewman Hodel insist that that is what happened_.”

“Well, they are the experts,” Riker said with a shrug. “Mr Singh, Crewman Hodel, can you bring the engines back online?”

“ _Not in the foreseeable future, sir_ ,” Singh replied. “ _There’s some serious damage to the warp coils, and most of the dilithium crystals are cracked. I wouldn’t dare to try replacing them – not outside a drydock; even there, it might be hopeless, given the extent of the damage. But I can give you emergency power for about an hour. That would mean functioning turbolifts, at the very least._ ”

“I’ll take what you can give me,” Riker said. “Keep me informed,” he broke the connection and turned to Data. “Well? Any progress?”

The android shook his head. “No, sir. I have just realized that every aspect of the ship’s computer memory was frozen solid. The information is irretrievable.”

“Even for you?”

“Even for me, sir. The database has been physically damaged to an extent that would require the skill of a technician team from Bynaeus to restore the data. It could only be done in one of their special labs.”

Riker uttered an oath that was definitely not to be repeated in decent company. Fortunately, before Data could have asked for an explanation, his comm badge beeped again.

“ _Doctor Selar to Commander Riker_.”

“Go ahead, Doctor.”

“ _Commander, I believe you should come down to Sickbay. There is something you definitely need to see_.”

“On my way. Has life support been restored there?”

“ _Artificial gravity is slowly coming back. But I suggest you keep your helmet on, just to be safe._ ”

“Understood. I’ll be with you shortly,” Riker turned back to the android. “Data, have Commander Aksu’s body beamed directly to the morgue and see if Captain Haye’s body is in his ready room. Then go to Auxiliary Control and see if you can find access to any secondary records, and be it personal logs. We need to know what happened. Any hint would be helpful.”

“Aye, sir.”

“You have little more than an hour,” Riker added. “Then we’ll have to return to the _Enterprise_ , and it’s unlikely that the captain will allow us to visit the _Beagle_ again, so this is our only chance.”

“Understood, sir.”

 *** * * * * * * * * * * * * * * ***  
In Sickbay, artificial gravity was about to reach the Earth norm indeed, and it was a true relief to switch off the magnetic boots and to be able to walk normally again… well, almost. Nonetheless, both Selar and Crewman Ames were still wearing their EPG suits, including the helmets, and neither a breathable atmosphere, nor a normal temperature were provided. Riker wondered why, but knowing Vulcans in general and Selar in particular, he was sure the doctor had her reasons.

“You wanted to see me, Doctor?”

“Yes, Commander. Please, come with me.”

Selar led him to the examination room, to a frozen body, its chest exploded open. There was frozen blood everywhere, the individual droplets levitating around them like russet hailstones, slowly floating downwards at the artificial gravity was being restored.

Riker had never in his life been so glad to wear a spacesuit.

“What happened to this man?”

“Explosive decompression as a result of the ship’s hatches being blown,” Selar answered with detached professionalism.

Vulcan emotional detachment could be a little creepy sometimes, Riker found. Especially under circumstances like these. Crewman Ames, on the other hand, was definitely a little green around the gills.

“Any idea who the victim is… _was_?” the first officer asked, stepping closer to the body which was lying askew on a biobed, as if it had been dropped carelessly over it.

Selar raised a hand to stop him. “Please stay away from the body, Commander. The risk of contamination still does exist.”

“Doctor, we are wearing EPG suits,” Riker reminded her.

She nodded calmly. “And we can take with us the contaminants on the surface of our suits.”

“Are you sure it _is_ a contamination?”

“No, I am not. But it is a strong possibility. It is my opinion that the hatches were blown in an attempt to destroy _something_ which would have proven malignant to much more than just the crew of the _Beagle_.”

“And? Have they succeeded?”

“I cannot answer that question, Commander,” Selar looked down at the horribly disfigured body thoughtfully. “Not _yet_. We shall have to do autopsies on the corpses we recover. I assume that this was the chief medical office of the _Beagle_. I hope he made personal notes, independently from the medical computer, so that we can start from _somewhere_.”

Riker nodded. “All right. Commander Data will organize the transport of the bodies of our morgue. We’ll need a head count, too, to know how many crewmembers are missing.”

“The crew manifests of every Starfleet ship include DNA information,” Selar said. “We will run a DNA check on the corpses and compare the results with the _Beagle_ ’s crew manifest. That should ‘do the trick’, as you humans like to say.”

“Good. Carry on and keep me informed,” Riker stepped out into the corridor, where he could be undisturbed by the sight of the dead bodies, and activated his comm badge.

“Riker to Picard. Captain, I have a report for you.”

“ _Picard here_ ,” the voice of the captain answered.

“They're all dead, sir,” Riker reported. “A lot of them frozen solid, while some were apparently blown out the emergency hatches, as they are uncounted for.”

There was a long moment of shocked silence, and then Picard said, “ _There were forty-six people on that ship, Number One_.”

“Yes sir. As I said, all dead.”

“ _What about log entries? Records?_ ”

“Irretrievable. According to Data it would take a team of Bynars in a high-end computer lab to reconstruct at least some of them.”

“ _That is… unfortunate, to put it mildly. How are we supposed to find out what happened without sufficient data?_ ”

“We’re looking for PADDs, tricorders, all sorts of personal recording devices, Captain. Perhaps putting together all available facts will enable us to get an overall picture about the recent events. The autopsies ought to help, too, or so Doctor Selar says.”

“ _Let’s hope so_ ,” Picard sighed. “ _All right, Number One, make it so. You’ve got about forty minutes left – use them wisely. Picard out_.”

“Aye, sir,” Riker answered dutifully; then he switched channels. “Riker to Away Team. Speed up, people, we’re running out of time.”

 *** * * * * * * * * * * * * * * ***  
Having listened to his first officer’s report, Picard decided to go down to Sickbay and ask Doctor Pulaski about her theories. Unlike Riker, he genuinely respected their lead doctor, despite her sometimes abrasive nature. It was… relaxing to have a chief medical officer whose main objective was her work, not the ill-veiled attempt to stay in the captain’s good graces.

He found the good doctor in her office, examining information as it camee up on a desktop viewer. From the angle where he was standing in the doorway, Picard only could see the back of the viewer and the flicker of light on her face as the information changed. Troi was there too, also watching the screen over Pulaski’s shoulder.

Picard strode over to examine the viewscreen too. It didn’t tell him much, being mostly medical stuff.

“What have you found, Doctor?” he asked.

Pulaski turned around to look up at him.

“I can't find anything unusual in any of the tricorder readings the Away Team have sent over so far, Captain,” she admitted unhappily.

She seemed disturbed, more so than Picard had ever seen her, which was a bad sign. As a rule, Katherine Pulaski was a highly competent officer and a woman of great self-confidence.

“Give me a theory, Doctor,” the captain almost pleaded. “ _Anything_!”

Pulaski just shook her head, her silence eloquent. Troi, too, had a troubled look on her face, and that worried the captain even more.

“Troi?” he turned to her. “Did you feel anything from over there? I know they’ve been dead for days, but you’ve been able to pick up residual emotions earlier, More than once, in fact.”

The residues are very faint,” the counselor replied carefully, “and not easy to interpret. There is a lot of fear… and a great deal of madness, combined with despair. But I'm not too certain of that.”

“Madness,” Picard replied slowly. “That was what Captain Haye mentioned in his last transmission: the spreading of madness. Could it have been mass hysteria? Delusion?”

“Any or all, Captain,” she replied. “I’m sorry, but I can’t give you anything better at the moment.”

‘All right,” Picard checked the wall chronometer. “Let's bring the Away Team back; their time has almost run out. Set the transporter for maximum decontamination. And then full examinations and observation when they're here.”

“Believe me, Captain, I’m fully aware of the requirements of a Level Four quarantine,” Pulaski said dryly.

As usual, for a moment Picard was taken aback by the reaction of the doctor. In such moments he could actually understand why Riker was often so irritated by their chief medical officer. But he had to admit that Pulaski was right: she had seen the one or other crisis during her decades-long career as a Starfleet officer and didn’t need to be told how to do her job.

“Yes, I’m sure you are, Doctor,” he replied. “I’ll leave the matter of decontamination in your capable hands, then.”

 *** * * * * * * * * * * * * * * ***  
Shortly thereafter the Away Team reappeared on the platform of Transporter Room Three. This time Riker sent the two engineers and Lieutenant Eakins first, who were decontaminated and transported directly to Sickbay for a complete medical check-up. The first officer followed with Data and the two doctors then, and went through the same procedure.

As soon as they rematerialized in Sickbay, Dr Pulaski herded them into the examination area.

“What about the bodies from the _Beagle_?” Riker asked, while Dr Selar was routinely checking Data’s parameters, declaring him in perfect working order.

“They’re being put in cryogenic tubes as we speak,” the chief medical officer replied. “That gives us the time for thorough autopsies. It would be dangerous if we overlooked any details, no matter how small.”

“I want a full report upon the completion of autopsies,” Riker told her. 

She shrugged, not the least impressed by his authoritative manner.

“You’ll have to share with the captain, I’m afraid. I don’t have the time to write multiple reports. You’re fine, Crewman,” she added for Hodel, having finished his check-up; then she looked at Nahar Singh. “You’re next, Lieutenant.”

The assistant chief engineer obligingly lay down on the examination table and Pulaski started to monitor him with a small, hand-held medical scanner. The readings came on – nothing radical anywhere, as far as Riker could tell. The doctor, however, frowned as she looked up at the viewscreen above the examination table.

“Everything seems to be normal. Except… why are you sweating so profusely?”

Riker took a closer look and saw that there was indeed a fine sheen of perspiration on the engineer’s handsome brown face.

“I suppose because you have it too hot in here!” Singh snapped with unexpected aggressiveness that no-one would have expected from such a calm, cultured person. “What else would it be?”

“Whoa, Lieutenant, calm down! You don’t even sound like yourself,” Riker intervened.

Singh stared at him with an almost manic grin.

“Maybe it wasn’t me. Maybe it was _him_ ,” he pointed with his finger at a surprised and a little shocked Hodel. “Always so eager to follow my lead, like a good little puppy...”

Seeing the somewhat stunned reaction of everyone present, he added, still grinning like a loon. “Joke!”

“Of course,” Pulaski replied calmly. “But I would like to run another test or two on you, Lieutenant. Mr Ames, hand me the cortical scanner, please.”

She held out an expectant hand but no medical instrument was forthcoming. Turning around, she saw Ames leaning against a console, still looking a little green and breathing heavily.

“Are you all right?” she asked with a frown. “Ames, what is wrong with you?”

“Nothing, Doctor,” the young man replied, looking more than a little embarrassed. “I guess I just don’t handle death very well. I’m sorry.”

Pulaski nodded in understanding. “Don’t be. Not handling death well means that you still care if people live or die; no good doctor should ever stop doing so. You just have to learn not to allow it to interfere with your duties.”

“I’ll… try my best, Doctor.”

“That’s all everyone can ask. Now, why don’t you go to the duty doctor’s office and write your report? Ensign Freeman can assist me here.”

Colin Freeman, the medical technician on duty – a somewhat plump, easy-going young man whom patients loved to have around them – was already raising the diagnostic arc over Singh, while Ames gratefully scurried away. Pulaski checked the readings on the overhead viewscreen; then she shook her head and touched her comm badge.

“Sickbay to Bridge…”

“ _Go ahead, Doctor_ ,” Picard’s voice answered.

“Captain, I’m confining Lieutenant Singh to Sickbay until further notice.”

“ _Do we have a problem, Doctor?_ ”

“I don’t know yet,” she admitted reluctantly. “The readings are inconclusive, but something is definitely odd. I’ll inform you as soon as I find anything useful.”

“ _Make it so_ ,” Picard said, “ _and send Commander Riker up to the Bridge as soon as he’s done there_.”

 *** * * * * * * * * * * * * * * ***  
It took a good twenty minutes for Riker to go through medical check-up and go up to the captain’s Ready Room, where Picard, Data, Worf and LaForge were already waiting. Pulaski and Troi joined them a short time later.

“I have compared the crew manifest of the _Beagle_ with the bodies we have found – including the ones found floating outside the ship,” Data reported. “According to our count, three people are missing: the chief medical officer, one of his assistants and one of the scientists, an Andorian botanist.”

“I thought the body we found in their sickbay _was_ the chief medical officer,” Riker commented in surprise.”

“No, sir; that was merely a logical assumption on Doctor Selar’s side,” the android replied. “DNA analysis has identified the body as one of the medical assistants. As far as we know, Doctor Androon might have escaped, together with the other two missing people.”

“Are you certain they aren’t lying dead somewhere within the ship?”

“Fairly certain, Captain. We have scanned the ship very thoroughly, and even found someone who must have been hiding in the cupboard in her quarters, They are definitely not on board.”

“They could still have been blown out through one of the hatches,” Riker pointed out. “We can’t be absolutely sure that we’ve fond everyone.”

“That is correct, Commander. Perhaps if we have checked all the personal logs that we found we will learn more.”

“Let’s hope so,” the captain said, somewhat sceptically. Then he turned his attention to LaForge. “Lieutenant, have you been able to retrace the _Beagle_ ’s travel route?”

The pilot shook his head apologetically. “We’ve begun to check the trajectories, Captain, but there are literally thousands of possibilities. We’ll need to narrow them down if we want to succeed, but that will take time. The only thing we know for sure is that they stopped in the Aldebaran system for supplies.”

“Why there?” wondered Riker.

“Apparently, Commander Aksu still had contacts there and hoped they could acquire some dilithium crystals to bridge over until our arrival. We found a note on a PADD in his quarters.”

“Did they succeed?”

“Unknown, sir. And it still does not explain the three missing people.”

“Perhaps it does,” Picard said thoughtfully. “Play this scenario: the _Beagle_ sends a party down somewhere in the Aldebaran system and brings back some contaminant with them…”

“They must have returned to that world to find a cure…” Riker picked up on the line of his thought.

“… and they never made it back,” the captain finished. Turning his attention back to LaForge, he added. “Lieutenant, I want you to redouble your efforts to retrace the _Beagle_ ’s travel route. Those people may still be alive – and they are our last hope to learn what really happened.”

“I’ll do my best, Captain, but I might need help.”

“I will help you, Geordi,” Data promised.

“Good,” Picard said. “What’s the condition of Mr Singh like, Doctor?”

“Still inconclusive,” Pulaski admitted. “He’s running a low fever and is a bit confused from time to time, but that doesn’t necessarily have anything to do with what happened to the _Beagle_.”

“And Crewman Ames?”

“I’ve examined him before coming up here; he is without any symptoms. I assume that his reaction was caused by seeing so much death and nothing more. I told him to come back in two days and see me again, just to be on the safe side.”

“It might be a good idea to keep an eye on him,” Picard agreed. “Well, if there is nothing else you are dismissed. We’ll meet again tomorrow at the same time.”


	4. Frozen, Part Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A few lines of dialogue have been borrowed from the similarly themed 1st season episode “The Naked Now”, basically for the authentic technobabble. This is still a very different story, though. 
> 
> Details about starship systems are taken from “The Next Generation Technical Manual” and from the “Ex Astris Scientia” website, respectively, as well as from the Memory Alpha Wiki.
> 
> Lt JG Singh (played by Kavi Raz) is a canon character. He was actually killed by the intelligent energy cloud called Nagilum in the 1st Season episode “Lonely Among Us”, but I liked him too much to leave him dead. So I decided that he was just badly injured and eventually recovered. Poetic licence and all that.

*** * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
CHAPTER ONE – FROZEN**

**PART THREE**

Data, Geordi and several other crewmembers assigned to Operations worked through the rest of the day, the following night and the entire morning after that. As the android did not need rest, he was overseeing the work without a break.

LaForge slept a meagre three hours during the simulated night – at the orders of Doctor Pulaski, after he had gone to Sickbay with a blinding headache, caused by an overstimulation of his nerves by his VISOR - but he was back to work after that, grey with exhaustion but determined to finish the job. 

The others worked in shifts. In _long_ , overlapping shifts.

“So far, we’ve been able to narrow the trajectories of the _Beagle_ down to twelve hundred, and we’ll try to limit it down further,” LaForge reported during the briefing on the next day.

“How long, do you think, you’ll need for it?” Riker asked.

Geordi looked at Data. “What do _you_ think?”

“By my estimate, we should be able to retrace the entire travel route of the _Beagle_ in approximately twelve hours and thirty-six minutes,” the android replied. “That is only a rough estimate, of course.”

“Of course,” Picard suppressed a smile. “That will give Doctor Pulaski enough time to analyze the autopsy results.”

“Has she already finished the autopsies?” 

Riker was surprised. They had brought in forty-three dead bodies, after all. Even if the medical section worked through the night, too, that was a _lot_ of autopsies to do.

“No, of course not,” Troi, who was keeping tab on the medical section’s working, said. “They made a representative selection, one corpse of every species that was present on the _Beagle_ , so that they can compare the preliminary results. An in-depth analysis will take at least two days – _after_ they had done all the autopsies.”

“Do they have any leads already?” Riker asked.

“Why don’t we find out?” the captain activated the comm “Picard to Sickbay.”

“ _Yes, Captain, what can I do for you?_ ” Pulaski’s voice answered, sounding as exhausted as Geordi felt.

“Can you give us a temporary progress report, Doctor?”

“ _Certainly, Captain, but I’m afraid you won’t like it._ ”

“Try me.”

“ _As you wish_ ,” the chief medical officer paused for a moment, presumably to consult her notes. “ _So far we’ve done the autopsies of Captain Haye, Commander Aksu, the two Tellarite engineers, a civilian Vulcan scientist, the Bolian security chief, and Andorian and a Benzite…_ ”

“Counselor Troi said something about a representative selection,” Riker interrupted.

“ _That is correct, Commander_.”

“But wouldn’t that mean one of each?”

“ _No. We would need at least two representatives of every species; three or four would be even better._ ”

“Why is that?” Geordi asked.

“ _To make sure that whatever we find isn’t the specific reaction of a single individual but characteristic for their entire species_ ,” the doctor explained.

“And what did you find?” Riker demanded.

“ _Nothing!_ ” Pulaski’s frustration was obvious, even though they couldn’t actually _see_ her. “ _The only cause of death was the explosive decompression. There is no sign of an inside influence that may have caused Captain Haye to blow the hatches._ ”

“None that we can recognize by preliminary tests, in any case,” Doctor Selar’s voice added with the usual Vulcan detachment.

“Does it mean there wasn’t any contaminant?” Riker felt almost cheated. He had begun to get hooked on the idea.

“ _No, Commander_ ,” Selar answered patiently. “ _It only means that there really is no proof of a disease. Not_ yet _. But we still have a long way to go._ ”

“Let us hope that we do have the time for it,” the captain commented in concern. “How is Crewman Ames doing?”

“ _He’s just gone off-duty_ ,” Pulaski answered. “ _I ordered the medical staff go easy on him for the next few days. He’s still having a hard time dealing with the dead bodies he saw on the_ Beagle.”

“What the hell is Ames’s problem – save that he’s young and inexperienced?” Riker frowned as the channel closed.

“Death can be hard on someone at any age, Number One,“ Picard said thoughtfully, “especially if it’s your own.”

“He is a _doctor_ ,” Worf growled, clearly disgusted by what he saw as the man’s cowardice. “He _must_ have seen dead bodies before!”

“Seeing them under controlled circumstances, in a university’s autopsy lab, is not the same as seeing them here, in deep space, far from home,” Troi pointed out quietly. “Circumstances out here are anything but controlled. Facing the unknown dangers of space for the first time can be… overwhelming, especially for those not from some distant pioneer world.”

“Counselor, do you think that perhaps young Mr Crusher would be a good influence on Crewman Ames?” Picard asked.

“Perhaps,” the counselor allowed. “Wesley has gained his space legs as a small child already. I’ll speak with him; he might need a friend just as much as Crewman Ames does.”

“Let’s hope that finding a friend will keep him out of our hair,” Riker muttered.

It wasn’t so that he didn’t like the boy – he actually _did_ – but Wesley’s clinging could be a bit too much sometimes.

“It is not Wesley’s fault that there are no other boys his age on board,” Troi said with a hint of reproval in her voice. “And even if there were, it is doubtful that they would share the same interests.”

“Which is why he and Crewman Ames might be good for each other,” Picard commented. “Very well; return to your duties. I want progress reports from every section by the beginning of Gamma Shift. Dismissed.”

 *** * * * * * * * * * * * * * * ***  
Ten Forward, the brand new recreation lounge of the _Enterprise_ , had become very popular during its relatively short existence. Partly because it was a place where senior officers, junior officers, non-comm crewmembers _and_ civilians could mingle, regardless of rank and position.

The other reason was currently standing behind the bar, wearing an asymmetrically-cut purple robe and a hat that could have put the saucer section of a smaller starship to shame, and was polishing the counter with a rag of exactly the same colour as her hat and her gown, her long, jet-black braids swinging at the rhythm of her movements.

Ever since Guinan, the mysterious bartender took over Ten Forward, people had been levitating to her – especially those who had a lot on their minds. She might _look_ human, but she wasn’t. What she _was_ , was a good listener; and her sparse questions and comments often helped people to understand their problems and bring up the courage to face them.

Which was exactly why Picard, who had known her for a very long time, had hired her to run Ten Forward. As Dr Philip Boyce, the first chief medical officer of the first _Enterprise_ once had said, people sometimes told things their bartender they wouldn’t tell their doctor – _or_ the ship’s counselor.

At the moment, this being the middle of Beta Shift, the lounge was almost empty. People having come off duty and wanting a snack after work had already left, and Gamma Shift personnel wouldn’t drop in for one last coffee (or whatever their favourite stimulant was) for at least two hours yet.

Only three tables were currently occupied. One of them had flowers, holographic candles and a bottle of champagne peeking out of a silver bucket full of ice. Chief Engineer Argyle and Jim Shimoda were celebrating their sixteenth wedding anniversary, just between the two of them, and Guinan considered it a matter of honour to give them a nice time.

At another table Lieutenant Dan Eakins from Security and Ensign Colin Freeman from Sickbay were having a late lunch. They were an odd couple, at least to the naked eye. Instead of big and beefy, the security officer was pale and slim, although trim and of wiry strength. Freeman was the one who looked like a stereotypical security guard, although he had never in his whole life wielded anything deadlier than a medical scanner.

They were the living proof for how opposites attracted each other. According to the grapevine of the lower decks, even their interests were fairly different. And yet they had been together for almost two years by now. 

Mikal Hodel, a good friend of both, was sitting with them, explaining something with dramatic gestures. They all laughed, even Eakins, which was not a frequent sight.

Guinan’s attention, however, was turned to the third table, where Wesley Crusher and that young doctor from Sickbay, Folkert Ames, were playing a game of chess-droids. Or, to be more accurate, Wesley was trying to involve Ames in the game, but the older man was clearly not interested. In fact, he seemed unusually agitated.

As he was a frequent visitor of Ten Forward, Guinan knew that as a rule Ames was a calm, quiet person – much like Eakins, in fact. Something must have happened to upset him this much.

Guinan knew about the _Beagle_ and her dead crew, of course. It was her job to know _everything_. But, as Worf had mentioned earlier (and yes, she knew about _that_ ; too, she had her methods), Ames was a doctor. A rather green one – this was his very first assignment – but still a doctor. He _must_ have seen dead bodies before.

Moving noiselessly, she trailed out from behind the bar, drifting closer to the third table. To _listen_.

“We’re in the middle of nowhere,” Ames was lamenting. “The only thing keeping us from the harshness of space is the bulkhead of the ship that we occupy.”

Wesley shook his head in exasperation. “Oh, don’t be so dramatic! The _Enterprise_ is the safest possible place where we can be, and that includes a lot of planets! Those bulkheads are made of duranium; they won’t give in so easily.”

“We don’t belong here,” Ames insisted. “It’s not _meant_ to be.”

“This is the twenty-fourth century,” Wesley pointed out. “ _Everyone_ is out there, exploring. That’s what people of this era _do_.”

“And a fat lot of good it does us all,” the young doctor said darkly. “Mark my words: the _Enterprise_ crew is going to end up exactly like the _Beagle_ ’s. We’ll all _die_!”

“Yeah, and the Earth is a disc,” Wesley commented sarcastically. “Do you subscribe to the Flat Earth theory, too?”

“You have no idea!” Ames declared angrily. “You’re just a snot-nosed kid who shouldn’t even _be_ on board without his Momma.”

“Whom did you call a kid?” Wesley’s voice began to rise, too, showing his own anger.

“You _are_ a kid,” Ames replied, nearly shouting. “You weren’t even at the Academy, you have no training. It’s highly irresponsible of the captain to let you fly the ship. He’ll get us all killed, just because he has the hots for your mother!”

“You dare!” Wesley jumped to his feet and punched Ames, by then also standing, in the nose.

The doctor stared at him in shock, blood running from his nose.

“You _hit_ me!” he wailed. “You little parasite, you _hit_ me!”

His fingers curling threateningly, he lunged to throttle Wesley and might have succeeded if not for Lieutenant Eakins. The security officer jumped over the table separating them, grabbed Ames’s arm and wrenched it behind his back.

A moment later Hodel and Freeman caught up with him and restricted Wesley with united strength. It proved harder than expected; the boy was struggling in their grasp, kicking at their legs and even trying to bite them.

The chief engineer and his spouse were watching them in shock. Eakins, on the other hand, wasn’t even breathing any harder. With his free hand, he touched his comm badge.

“Eakins to Lieutenant Worf.”

“ _Go ahead_ ,” the Klingon growled.

“Sir, I need reinforcements at Ten Forward. We’ve just broken up a fight here and I need somebody to escort Mr Crusher to the brig.”

“ _Wesley_?” Worf sounded incredulous.

Eakins didn’t blame him. Hadn’t he seen the scene with his own eyes, he wouldn’t have believed it, either.

“I’m afraid so, sir,” he replied. “The boy’s just broken the nose of Doctor Ames.”

“ _Understood_ ,” there was a short pause, then the Klingon spoke again. “ _Ensign Baila will be with you shortly. Do you have the situation under control?_ ”

“Yes, sir. Colin… that is, Ensign Freeman and Ensign Hodel lent me a hand. But I’d prefer security to handle it.”

“ _Agreed. Wait for Ensign Baila, then take Crewman Ames to Sickbay and send me a report._ ”

“Aye, sir,” Eakins broke the connection and looked at the two engineers who were still exchanging shocked looks. “Sorry about your celebration, Mr Argyle, Mr Shimoda. We’ll be gone in a few minutes.”

 *** * * * * * * * * * * * * * * ***  
Needless to say that the captain was less than pleased when he heard about the incident in Ten Forward. He had promised Beverly Crusher to keep his son out of trouble in her absence; having Wesley beating up people was not how that was supposed to happen.

Since neither Ames nor Wesley was willing to tell him what the fight had been about, Picard decided to visit Ten Forward and ask Guinan. She would know; she seemed to know everything that was going on aboard. And she _would_ tell him everything he needed to know – unless it had been shared with her in confidence.

Guinan mixed him a drink, the advantage of synthehol being that one could drink while on duty without consequences – theoretically, at least. (Of course, strictly seen Picard wasn’t on duty during Beta Shift. No more than a captain was _always_ on duty.) Then she just sat there, watching him nursing his drink with that enigmatic smile of hers.

She wouldn’t start a conversation with those who sought her attentive ear. She waited for them to begin. Picard knew that. He just found it hard to begin at the moment.

“What happened?” he finally asked. “Did Wesley really hit Crewman Ames?”

Guinan nodded and smiled. “Yes, he did.”

“Why?”

“They had a difference of opinions.”

“About what?”

“About whether mankind should be out in deep space, exploring, or not. Wesley was for space exploration. Crewman Ames was _not_. Emphatically so.”

“And Wesley broke his nose for _that_?” Picard could barely believe his ears. “This is ridiculous!”

“Not just for that. Crewman Ames also happened to say that Wesley has no business being on this ship without his mother, since he’s just a kid. And that you would only let him fly the ship because you ‘had the hots for his mother’, as he put it, adding that you are going to kill us all with your irresponsible acts.”

“Nonsense,” the captain said. “Granted, Wesley is young, but he’s a natural at the controls.”

“I don’t doubt that,” Guinan said calmly. “But, as Crewman Ames pointed out, he had no formal training. And you _do_ grant Wesley privileges you wouldn’t grant anyone else. Crewman Ames isn’t the only one who has a problem with _that_.”

“I never heard any complaints,” Picard said, surprised.

“Of course not,” she replied with a tolerant smile. “Who would be fool enough to criticize the _captain_ for playing favourites? People are mindful of their own careers – they have worked hard to get there where they are. I’m sure Crewman Ames wouldn’t have said anything, either, had he not been terribly upset.”

Picard shook his head in bewilderment. “I only allow Wesley to fly with supervision. Either Data or Geordi are always present to intervene, should it be necessary. It is true that he’d make an excellent pilot if Geordi really chooses to take over Engineering after Mr Argyle rotates out, but…”

“Then _make_ him qualify for the position,” Guinan interrupted. “Give the trained officers no reason to complain.”

“He won’t be accepted at the Academy just yet.”

“No, of course not. But not all Starfleet personnel go through the Academy, do they? You gave the boy a field rank; you can give him field training, too. There are scientists and highly trained flight personnel on this ship – have them teach the boy. Have Commander Riker make a curriculum and prepare Wesley for the Academy – or for any other career he might choose later.”

“That could work,” Picard admitted, after having thought about the suggestion for a while; then he suddenly grinned. “You are wicked, though, you know that? I’m quite sure that Will would _hate_ to baby-sit Wesley.”

She grinned back. “Of course he would. But it will be good for his ego; it could use a little puncturing. And dealing with a sullen teenager might teach him to appreciate Doctor Pulaski’s difficulties to make him show up for his pre-scheduled physicals.”

Picard shook his head in tolerant amusement. “I should have known that you’d have at least two hidden agendas. You always do.”

“That’s why you brought me here: to have somebody outside the chain of command to talk to,” she pointed out. “Somebody who’s lived a long time and has seen a lot. Somebody who isn’t afraid to tell you the truth, even if it’s uncomfortable, but always has your best interests in mind.”

“That’s true,” Picard admitted. “Well; I’m going to see Wesley and lay down the new rules for him, so that he can mope over the restrictions while he’s in the brig… or do you think I should let him out?”

“Oh, no – not yet anyway. Allow him to think about his recent actions in peace,” Guinan said with twinkling eyes. “It will be _educational_ for him.”


	5. Examinations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Details about starship systems are taken from “The Next Generation Technical Manual” and from the “Ex Astris Scientia” website, respectively, as well as from the Memory Alpha Wiki.  
> Lt JG Singh (played by Kavi Raz) is a canon character. He was actually killed by the intelligent energy cloud called Nagilum in the 1st Season episode “Lonely Among Us”, but I liked him too much to leave him dead. So I decided that he was just badly injured and eventually recovered. Poetic licence and all that.  
> In the same venue, for the sake of this story I’m pretending that the 1st season episode “The Naked Now” never happened. It was a fairly weak episode anyway.

*** * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
CHAPTER TWO – EXAMINATIONS**

Deanna Troi was deeply concerned when she heard about the incident in Ten Forward. Granted, Crewman Ames had been acting strangely since his away mission aboard the _Beagle_ , but for him to verbally attack Wesley – and, subsequently, the captain – was completely out of character. Even though he wasn’t the only one having a problem with Wesley’s privileged position as the captain’s ward.

And Wesley hitting him – an adult and an officer, one of his mother’s former colleagues – was even more out of character. Wes was a spoiled brat, true, but he had never been aggressive. Deanna had been fairly close to the boy’s mother during the _Enterprise_ ’s first year and had come to know the boy well enough.

Kate Pulaski had contacted her and asked her to come to Sickbay, so that was where she was heading. She was only mildly surprised when the captain joined her in the turbolift. She could feel that Picard was deeply worried about Wes, for Beverly’s sake. He had accepted responsibility for the boy, after all, in spite of Deanna’s warnings – she was not happy to see that she had been right as things were about to go south rather spectacularly.

Unlike the rest of the senior crew, Deanna was well aware of the fact that the captain hadn’t allowed Wes to remain on board because of any suppressed feelings for Beverly. Yes, he did have those, but he was a disciplined adult and kept them strictly private. What had motivated him was the fact that he still felt guilty about the death of Wesley’s father – not that he could have prevented it, but guilt wasn’t something logical – and thought that he owed Jack Crusher to look after his son.

“How is Wesley doing?” Deanna asked, knowing that the captain had visited the boy in the brig already.

Picard shrugged. “As well as can be expected from a fifteen-year-old boy, sitting in a jail cell,” he replied.

“Isn’t it a bit harsh, throwing him in the brig? Wouldn’t confinig him the quarters be enough?” Deanna suggested.

“If it were anyone else, perhaps it would,” the captain answered with a sigh. “But you know him: he’d leave without hesitation when he thought he was needed somewhere. Even if we locked him up in his quarters, he’d pick the lock in no time and escape without any of us knowing. Mr Worf isn’t willing to take that risk and frankly, neither am I. Tempers are running high on the lower decks about the incident.”

Troi nodded. She could feel the anger radiating from a lot of people all over the ship. Ames might not be particularly popular – he was too shy and withdrawn for that – but he was an adult, an officer, whose nose had just been broken by ‘the captain’s pet’, as many of them perceived Wesley. The situation was volatile, to put it mildly.

“I know,” she said. “I’m trying to do some damage control; and Guinan is doing her part, too. I’m just afraid that not all this anger is coming to our people as a normal reaction.”

“Computer, halt turbolift!” There was the usual pinging sound and the lift cabin halted obediently between two decks. The captain looked at Troi intently. “Are you telling me that the… the madness Captain Haye was speaking about is spreading aboard the Enterprise, too?”

Troi let out a frustrated sigh. “I don’t know, Captain. I hope it isn’t; that people are just tense and frightened because of what we found aboard the _Beagle_. But we can’t really know, can we? Right now, we still have no idea what caused the madness in the first place. Was it a contaminant? Was it caused by something like the PSI 2000 virus – that wasn’t even a true virus but an affliction caused by polywater molecules – or something else entirely? We just don’t _know_ , and that makes people scared. No matter how bad something is, not knowing _what_ it is… that is the worst part.”

Picard nodded, acknowledging the truth of her words.

“Computer, resume turbolift,” he said, and they rode the lift the rest of the way down to Sickbay in silence.

 *** * * * * * * * * * * * * * * ***  
They found Doctor Pulaski in the examination area, with Ames lying on one of the examination tables, the diagnostic arch raised above him. He was quiet, almost somnolent, while Nurse Temple was healing his broken nose with the help of a bone-knitter and a dermal regenerator. His pale face was covered with a fine sheen of perspiration.

“How is he doing, Doctor?” Picard asked.

“Something is wrong,” Pulaski checked the readings on the overhead viewscreen and frowned. “His white blood cell count is way above where it should be. But my real concern is over the way he’s been acting, which is why I asked Deanna to come down here. If anyone, she might be able to reach him and perhaps find some answers.”

“I’ll do what I can,” Troi promised.

“Thank you. I’ll have him moved to the intensive care area, just to be on the safe side, where the duty nurse can monitor their condition around the clock.”

“ _Their_ condition? Has someone else come down with the same symptoms?” Picard became fairly agitated upon hearing this; Troi could feel his growing concern without focusing on it.

Pulaski nodded. “I’m afraid Mr Singh is suffering from the same problem… only at a more advanced stage.”

“It sounds like leukaemia,” Troi commented. “An unusually virulent kind of it, at that.”

The captain gave her a blank look. “Leukaemia?”

“A cancer of blood; a disease quite wide-spread during the twentieth and twenty-first centuries,” Pulaski explained. “But it can’t be. I admit that the symptoms – the heightened count of white blood cells – are similar, but leukaemia doesn’t happen to you in a single day.”

“Perhaps they’ve had it for some time already, in a dormant state,” Nurse Temple suggested, but the chief medical officer shook her head.

“Nowadays we no longer have the kind of technology that would produce harmful conditions leading to such a virulent outbreak. They would need to have been exposed to high levels of harmful radiation to succumb to it so quickly, and both at the same time. As far as I know – and I _do_ know, because I had Doctor Selar check their service records – their paths never crossed before coming aboard the _Enterprise_. And the only time they went on an away mission together was yesterday.”

“The _Beagle_ ,” the captain said grimly.

It wasn’t a question but Pulaski nodded nevertheless.

“It seems so, yes. But we still don’t know _what_ it is.”

“You said it – whatever it is – didn’t cause the death of the _Beagle_ ’s crew.”

“No; that was the explosive decompression. But I have ordered additional tests to find subtler changes in various organs, before all else the brain. This… thing might not have killed them, but it could have left traces in their tissue. We’ll have to look for those traces. That’s our best chance at the moment.”

“All right,” Picard sighed. “Let us meet in the bridge lounge after the end of our shift; perhaps you’ll be able to determine just what is going on with Crewman Ames; both of you,” he looked first at Pulaski, then at Troi. Both women nodded. “Good, I’ll see you later, then.”

“And what about Wesley?” Pulaski asked.

The captain frowned. “What about him?”

“How long do you intend to keep him in the brig? He’s just a boy, captain; and he was provoked.”

“A boy whom I’ve been giving more leeway than I should have, or so I’ve been repeatedly told in the last couple of hours,” Picard said dryly. “He’ll stay in the brig until we’ve dealt with whatever is influencing the crew right now – for his own safety.”

Pulaski gave him an arch look. “Are you sure you’re not overcompensating, Captain?”

“Quite sure, Doctor,” Picard replied. “The boy is safer under the watchful eyes of security than he’d be wandering around in the corridors right now. I’ll let him out as soon as we’ve solved the more urgent problem. Now, if you don’t have anything else to report, I’m expected on the Bridge.”

 *** * * * * * * * * * * * * * * ***  
Shortly after the end of Alpha Shift Picard, Riker, Pulaski and Troi met in the bridge lounge, in order to compare their notes about the current situation.

“Lieutenant LaForge is still working on limiting potential trajectories of the _Beagle_ ,” the captain told the others. “It is unfortunate that all their official records are lost, but not even Data was able to recover anything form the central database.”

“A shame,” Riker commented. “Not only their lives are lost but everything they’d been working on since the last data transfer.”

“True,” Picard agreed, “But we cannot help it right now. Perhaps Starfleet can ask for the help of the Bynars later. How are the patients doing?” he turned to Pulaski.

“Lieutenant Singh is still running a high fever and is occasionally delirious,” the doctor answered. “As for Doctor Ames, he doesn’t show any symptoms – yet! – but his behaviour still gives me reason for concern.”

“Unfortunately, I have not been able to exert much of an effect on him,” Troi added. “I’ll keep trying, though.”

“That’s not good enough!” the captain snapped. “I expect some answers, preferably soon!”

“We’re doing the best that we can,” Pulaski said evenly. “But we’re not miracle workers, Captain – although sometimes I wish we were.”

Whether Picard had any answer ready for that they never learned, because Riker started coughing, which immediately drew the doctor’s attention.

“Is something wrong, Commander?” she asked. Riker shook his head.

“Just… a cold,” he spluttered between two violent bouts of coughing.

“This is not good,” Pulaski commented, aiming her comment at Picard. "According to his medical file, the commander is one of those people who _never_ gets sick.”

“Meaning what?”

“I suspect that a disease is starting to spread, Captain, and we still have no idea what it might be… although we all can make an educated guess.”

“You mean the ‘madness’ Captain Haje mentioned?”

“I’m afraid so, Captain. Since we don’t know what the first symptoms are supposed to be…”

“That cannot be!” Troi disagreed. “May I point out that they were all decontaminated when they beamed back aboard the _Enterprise_?”

“You can’t decontaminate yourself from something you don’t know exists,” Pulaski snapped back bluntly.

“I agree,” Picard said. “The boarding party will have to be quarantined, all of them.”

The doctor shook her head. “It’s too late for that. If there _is_ a disease, it has already started to spread. I do, however, want the Away Team to report to Sickbay for further examinations.”

“I’ll need LaForge for a while yet,” Picard said, “But you can start with Will in the meantime.”

The others involuntarily grinned at Riker’s unhappy face, although Pulaski was clearly not happy about the delay concerning LaForge.

 *** * * * * * * * * * * * * * * ***  
As little as Riker liked it, he had to go down to Sickbay first, where he was subjected to a number of examinations he couldn’t even guess what they might have been for. He wasn’t even halfway through them when Geordi arrived.

“The captain thought I should come down as soon as possible,” he explained. “And since Data offered to take over for me…”

“I’m glad the captain came to his senses, after all,” Pulaski muttered, calling Dr Selar to take over Geordi’s examination; then she turned to Riker again. “Tell me, Commander, what did you have for breakfast?”

Riker opened his mouth to say something… and couldn’t.

“I don’t remember,” he finally admitted. “Is it important?”

“The question in itself is not,” Pulaski answered, after exchanging meaningful looks with Selar. “The fact that you don’t remember – yes, it is.”

For a moment there was silence, save for the low buzz of the cortical scanner Selar was using on Geordi. 

The Vulcan finished the scan and asked conversationally. “Lieutenant LaForge, how is your research considering the _Beagle_ ’s travel route going?”

It was a seemingly unrelated question (not that Vulcans would tend to ask unrelated questions, of course), but Geordi answered readily enough.

“We’re almost there, thanks, in large parts, to Data’s contribution. He and the computer have an understanding.”

“Small wonder,” Pulaski commended archly. “They’re related, aren’t they? All right, Lieutenant, you check out just fine; you can go back to your station.”

“What about me?” Riker asked. “Can I return to the Bridge?”

“I’m afraid you cannot,” Pulaski replied. “You, Lieutenant Singh and Crewman Ames will be prepped for surgery.”

“Surgery?” Riker echoed incredulously. “What for?”

“Based on what we discovered during the last phase of autopsies performed on the _Beagle_ crewmembers, we’ve come to the conclusion that whatever this disease is, it can lead to serious brain damage. We might not have to operate on you, but I want to perform a brain scan on you to see if it is necessary; and in case it is, you’ll better be prepped, so that we won’t waste precious time.”

“Terrific!” Riker made an unhappy grimace. “Which means that the cure is worse than the disease itself.”

“Patients always think that way,” she replied dryly. “Especially ones with an exaggerated sense of self-importance.”

“What’s _that_ supposed to mean?” Riker demanded.

“It means this ship will survive without you for a while,” she replied with an eye-roll.

Before Riker could come up with the sharp answer he wanted to give, there was a horrible scream from where Crewman Ames was being treated by Ensign Freeman. Both Pulaski and Selar left Riker alone to run over to the emergency patient.

“Hold him down,” Pulaski ordered Selar – the only one of them with enough physical strength to immobilize the patient who was trashing on his bed madly. “Colin, give me thirty ccs of cordrazine!”

Ensign Freeman stared at her in shocked surprise. “ _Thirty_ ccs? Isn’t that a dangerously high dosage, Doctor?”

He was an experienced med tech with special training in emergency medicine, so his objection was, at the very least, justified. Pulaski, however, was not in the mood to start a debate with him right now.

“Ensign, this man is in the midst of a massive coronary, which will kill him within moments, _unless_ we make an attempt to reverse it. Now, do you think you could give me the medication I asked for without giving me a diagnosis or are we gonna continue this debate until the patient dies?”

Ashamed and properly intimidated, Freeman pulled up the cordrazine and Pulaski administered the hypospray to Ames who finally began to calm down. Pulaski and Selar studied the medical viewscreen above his bed in honest confusion – or as close to confusion as a Vulcan could ever admit experiencing.

“According to our medical readouts there’s nothing wrong with his heart,” Pulaski commented. “Such a massive coronary doesn’t happen without a very good reason, though. There must be something we’ve overlooked.”

“He looks like he is running a temperature, but our instruments cannot determine the source of it,” Selar replied thoughtfully. “I suggest performing the brain scan without delay. If his condition is related to the events aboard the _Beagle_ , the first anomalous readings ought to appear in the brain.”

Pulaski nodded in agreement. “Since we were planning to run one anyway I agree. Call in all duty-free personnel. I have the uncomfortable feeling that Crewman Ames, Lieutenant Singh and Commander Riker are only the first candidates. While the brain scans are running, I’ll summarize for the captain the autopsy reports. He likes to be informed.”

 *** * * * * * * * * * * * * * * ***  
“Our autopsy results clearly indicate that the captain of the _Beagle_ was suffering from a brain infection, which resulted from a reduction of its immune abilities,” Pulaski explained half an hour later. “Compared all autopsy results, it shows that the dead crewmembers we’ve examined all suffered from the same infection, which is virulent, spreads quickly and is absolutely deadly, regardless of age, gender _or_ species.”

“So it isn’t a cancer of the blood, after all?” Picard asked.

They were sitting in the chief medical officer’s office with Troi and Worf; in his capacity as the chief of security the Klingon needed to be informed about every threat to the ship and its crew, regardless of its nature.

“No; although the symptoms appear very similar,” Pulaski replied. “We have determined that the pathogen must be a previously unknown virus; a highly aggressive one.”

Using a medical device she punched up the image of one of the dead Beagle crewmen’s insides. It was a rather… colourful picture, with large areas of the body coloured green.

“The green areas indicate the places attacked by the virus,” she explained. “When the hatches of the _Beagle_ were blown, not only were the bodies frozen, but so was the virus itself; unfortunately, it had only gone into hibernation and was unleashed when brought into the warmer atmosphere of the _Enterprise_.”

“Does it mean that my entire ship is contaminated?” Picard asked in shocked disbelief.

Pulaski nodded. “Afraid so, Captain. However, countermeasures have already been initiated. The atmospheric filter system has been reprogrammed to keep the virus from spreading via air circulation to previously safe areas.”

“Is it airborne then?”

“Unfortunately, yes. The only bright point is that the virus can only survive in the atmosphere for approximately two hours.”

“That doesn’t help those already infected, though.”

“No, it doesn’t. I’m sorry, Captain.”

“It’s not your fault, Doctor,” Picard gave her a piercing look, noticing the transparent breathing mask covering the lower half of her face for the first time. “Are you all right?”

She shrugged. “I’m a carrier, without any of the symptoms. So far Crewman Ames, Lieutenant Singh and Commander Riker are the only ones infected.”

“That might change yet, though,” Picard’s tone made it unmistakably clear that this wasn’t really a question.

“It _will_ change, sooner rather than later,” Pulaski replied tiredly. “It would be naïve to assume that everyone else would turn out immune. The universe is rarely so lazy.”

“Any attempts of a cure yet?” Picard asked.

Their chief medical officer shook her head. “We haven’t even begun yet; and whatever Commander Data managed to save from the _Beagle_ ’s private logs needs to be correlated and analysed. That will take time.”

“Time that we don’t _have_!” Worf growled.

“True,” Pulaski admitted. “There’s _one_ thing we can do, though.”

“And that would be?”

“Well, apparently the _Beagle_ contracted the disease while in the Aldebaran system; which is probably the only place we might be able to find a cure,” Pulaski pointed out.

Picard nodded. “We’re all aware of that fact, Doctor. Let’s hope the computer manages to trace the trajectory of the Beagle without further delay,” he stood. “I’ll return to the Bridge. Keep me informed.”


	6. Chapter 3 - Outbreak

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Based on a story idea by JD Kurtz.  
> Apologies if my description of the pathogen and the background of its possible emergence don’t make any sense. I’m neither a doctor nor a scientist; let’s decide that it is an alien virus and blame the impossibilities on that, shall we? ;)

*** * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
CHAPTER THREE – OUTBREAK**

Upon returning to the Bridge, Picard was given some good news at last by LaForge and Data.

“The computer has finally been able to trace the trajectory of the _Beagle_ , Captain,” Geordi reported. “According to it, the last stop of the ship was one of the planets in the Alpha Tauri system.”

“But not the Aldebaran Colony itself, I presume?” Picard asked.

Their chief helmsman shook his head.

“No, sir; one of the other planets, right on the edge of the habitable zone: Alpha Tauri IV, also known as Aldebaran Zeta.”

“Aldebaran _Zeta_?” Picard repeated with a frown. The name did ring a bell, but he couldn’t remember the exact details.

“The original homeworld of the native Aldebaran species, abandoned by them six point seven two millennia ago because its erratic orbit made it increasingly uninhabitable,” Data offered. “According to the most recent survey – which, however, is several decades old – the surface of the planet has almost completely turned into a lifeless desert. Only a dozen or so lesser life forms do still inhabit the residual oceans… well, more like salty moors by now.”

“Why would the _Beagle_ visit _this_ planet, instead of the actual Aldebaran Colony, where they could have got everything they needed?” Picard asked, more to himself than from his officers,

That fact didn’t keep the android from providing an answer, of course.

“About forty per cent of Aldebaran Zeta’s makeup is usable metals, and the planet has a twenty-five per cent makeup of gemstones, twenty per cent crystals – including raw dilithium – ten per cent radioactive materials and also trace amounts of other rare minerals,” he explained. “Also, at the time when the _Beagle_ visited the Aldebaran system, Aldebaran Zeta was easier to access than the current colony; the two planets are on the opposite sides of Alpha Tauri most of the time.”

“Yes, Data, thank you,” Picard said with forced patience. As handy as the android’s encyclopaedic knowledge could come in, his desire to share said knowledge indiscriminately could really get on one’s nerves. “Mr LaForge, lay a course to Alpha Tauri IV, warp six.”

“Course is laid in, Captain,” the ever-efficient LaForge reported a mere minute later.

“Energize,” Picard stood and tugged down his uniform jacket. “I’m going back to Sickbay to check on Commander Riker. By now the brain scan should have run its course. You have the Bridge, Mr Data.”

He could have simply asked Doctor Pulaski or any of the medical personnel, of course, but as he didn’t have anything useful to do while they were in warp transit, he might as well go down and provide a little moral support.

 *** * * * * * * * * * * * * * ***  
What he found in the Intensive Care Area didn’t exactly fill him with optimism. Both Riker and Lieutenant Singh seemed to be burning up, running a high fever, while Crewman Ames still hadn’t regained consciousness and was attached to more medical instruments than it seemed possible for a single person to accommodate.

The one that worried the medical personnel most was Lieutenant Singh, though. In his case the infection appeared to be particularly virulent.

“He’s growing weaker and more paranoid, by the minute,” explained Nurse Temple, coming over from the duty nurse’s office with a hypospray to calm the patient down. “He seems to have come to the conclusion that we’re all going to die.”

“Well, he might be right, unless we find a cure for this disease, preferably soon,” Ensign Freeman commented dryly, holding the engineer down, so that the nurse could administer the hypospray.

“Please, Captain, help me!” Singh begged, showing unmistakable signs of panic as Nurse Temple approached him with the hypo. “They’re trying to kill me!”

“Nonsense!” Picard replied sternly. “Nobody is trying to kill you, Lieutenant. But you are very ill, and you _might_ die if you don’t let them treat you.”

Nurse Temple used her chance while the patient was distracted and pressed the hypospray to his neck. The injector emptied with a low hiss and Singh lost consciousness.

“One down, a dozen more to go,” she commented dryly. “Go to the examination room, Colin; I have the feeling that Doctor Pulaski might need some help. I’ll hold the fort here.”

As if proving her right, suddenly the sounds of struggle and angry cries came from the examination area. Freeman turned around and ran without a further word; after a moment of hesitation the captain followed him.

Then sight that greeted him was disturbing – to put it mildly. Lieutenant Eakins and another member of the security team were trying to hold a struggling and thrashing Crewman Hodel down, so that Doctor Pulaski could treat him – but clearly, it wasn’t easy. Obviously out of his mind, Hodel did his level best to shake them off, while screaming out that he wouldn’t let the “witch” use her black magic on him. 

“We’ve caught him with a thermite grenade, about to kill himself with it,” Lieutenant Eakins explained. “Had he succeeded, he’d have taken half of Engineering with him. We still don’t understand how he’d managed to get into the Armoury. Only senior security officers are supposed to have access.”

“He’s an engineer; a good one,” Picard reminded him. “No security lock stands a chance when a good engineer is determined to open it.”

Eakins, while holding the arms of his friend in an iron grip that belied his slim frame, looked at Hodel’s distorted face in concern,

“He was on the Away Team that visited the _Beagle_ ,” he murmured. “Is this how we’ll all end? In madness and fear? Are we going to kill ourselves like the crew of the _Beagle_ has done?”

“Not if I have anything to say in the matter,” Pulaski replied with icy determination. “Now, strap him down to the examination table, so that I can treat him.”

It was easier said than done, but in the end Eakins and his fellow security guard succeeded, and Pulaski finally managed to inject Hodel with a sedative.

“Return to your posts,” Picard ordered the security guards; once they left, he turned to Pulaski. “What is your estimate, Doctor? What are our chances?”

Pulaski sighed. “I don’t know, Captain. We still haven’t even managed to identify the virus. We see the results of its existence, but we haven’t found an actual, living one yet. By the time somebody starts showing symptoms, the virus itself has already died and got absorbed by the infected person’s body. I fear things will grow worse before they get better.

“I wonder if they _will_ ever get better,” the captain muttered pessimistically. “You mentioned earlier that you were a carrier without symptoms. Can’t you isolate the virus from your own blood stream?”

“We’ve already tried,” the doctor replied tiredly, “but as soon as it leaves a living blood stream, it dies and breaks apart into its chemical compounds; and those are completely harmless in themselves. This is a pathogen the like of which has never been encountered by Federation medicine. A groundbreaking discovery – assuming that we’ll live long enough to study it.”

“Are you sure that we’ll find anything on Aldebaran IV that might help us,” Picard asked.

“No,” Pulaski admitted bluntly. “It’s still our only hope, though. Studying the virus in its natural environment _might_ help us to understand how it works.”

“What I don’t understand,” Picard said, “is how nobody has encountered it before. Granted, the surveys on Aldebaran IV are rare and far in-between, but somebody ought to have caught the virus in the last seven millennia.”

“If it has always been present, yes,” Pulaski replied. “There’s the distinct possibility, though, that it’s a brand new life form; or a mutation caused by the profound environmental changes on Aldebaran IV. It was once a Class M planet; however, it has become a Class H, with not only the surface water evaporating but subterranean water reserves gradually drying up, too. Whatever primitive life-forms are still there, they had to adapt.”

“Data said that the last survey was several decades ago,” the captain murmured.

Pulaski nodded. “Time enough for a previously harmless virus to mutate into a deadly pathogen. We must also consider the possibility that taking it from its natural environment, however involuntarily, might have caused further mutations.”

“Which takes us back to Aldebaran IV:”

“Yes, Captain. And the sooner we get there the better for us all; because right now the prognosis is _not_ good.”

 *** * * * * * * * * * * * * * ***  
The conversation with their chief medical officer inspired Picard to have their speed increased to maximum travelling velocity; but even so it took them another two days to reach the Alpha Tauri system. It might be only twenty parsecs from Earth, but the _Beagle_ had travelled a considerable distance to the Morgana Sector already, and the _Enterprise_ had to go back the same way; and _that_ took time, even for the considerably faster _Galaxy_ -class starship.

Alpha Tauri was a binary system, visible from Earth as the brightest star in the constellation of Taurus. In truth it consisted of Alpha Tauri A, an orange giant, and Alpha Tauri B, a red dwarf, with Alpha Tauri B orbiting the primary at a distance of ninety-seven point five billion kilometres. A reflective trail of mineral and ice debris could be seen trailing behind Alpha Tauri B, as it was travelling along its orbit, illuminating the night sky of both habitable planets. Even from space, it was a breath-taking sight.

The _Enterprise_ crew, however, had no time to admire the celestial spectacle as the ship was locking into orbit around Aldebaran IV. They had more pressing issues.

“Start scanning the planet for any possible signs of the missing _Beagle_ crewmembers, Mr Data,” Picard ordered. “If they truly returned here, there has to be a power source or a long-range warp shuttle… or both.”

“Aye, sir,” the android set himself to work without delay.

“Captain,” Worf growled, “problems with various crewmembers are being reported from several decks. Whatever this… this _disease_ is,” he practically spat the word, “it is spreading quickly.”

“There are twelve cases already in sickbay,” Pulaski, who had come up to the Bridge for a quick report, added. “We are beginning to lose control over the situation. 

“Yes, I’m getting the same impression,” the captain said dryly. “Do you have any suggestions, Doctor?”

“Aside from going down to the planet and start looking for our virus urgently? No, I don’t.”

“We are currently scanning the planet for possible life-forms as well as for the presence of Federation technology, Doctor,” Data offered, without looking up from his screens. 

He was watching half a dozen of them simultaneously – clearly, having a positronic brain _did_ have its advantages. 

“However, a thorough scan, even with our advanced technology, takes time,” he continued. “The sea/land ration on Aldebaran IV used to be ninety one to nine, and it was the immense Aldebaran ocean where most of the planet’s animal species used to be held. We must be very thorough, if we do not want to overlook something potentially important.”

“I thought the ocean of Aldebaran IV has dried up, leaving behind nothing but shallow swamps,” Pulaski said.

The android nodded. “That is correct. However, the erstwhile ocean was bigger than all of Earth’s oceans put together; and the planet’s marine fauna was five times more diverse than that of the Earth.”

“Which offers many chances for potentially lethal mutations,” Troi commented.

Data nodded again. “Also correct. Especially considering the fact that the marine animals of Aldebaran IV were also capable of living at very great depths. It was also in the sea, particularly very far from the coast, that the most dangerous predators could be found.”

“That helps us very little,” Picard said. “We’re looking for a virus, not for a sea monster that wouldn’t have survived in the muddy swamps anyway.”

“That is true,” Data agreed. “However, muddy areas are the natural environment of small or even microscopic life-forms. For example…

“Data,” the captain said warningly, and the android obediently shut up, refocusing his attention on the screens.

It was going to be a long wait.

 *** * * * * * * * * * * * * * ***  
Meanwhile in Sickbay Mikal Hodel regained consciousness and found himself in the Intensive Care Area, strapped to a biobed. He was also burning up with fever and had the taste of dusty old carpets in his mouth.

“Water…” he crowed. 

Even bringing out that single word felt as if he had sandpaper in his throat.

Colin Freeman appeared in his field of view and he felt something nudge his parched lips. It was one of those beaked cups small children – and restrained patients – were made to use. After one sip he got the water went down in the wrong way and started coughing.

“Are you… trying to… kill me?” he wheezed, his eyes watering up from the effort to clear his lungs.

“You wanted water, didn’t you?” Freeman replied, clearly hurt.

Of course, he could have been faking it.

“Not… in my lungs,” Hodel coughed some more, feeling considerably worse than just a moment ago. “C’mon, Colin… you know… I can’t drink… lying on my back. Let me… sit up… just… for a moment.”

“You know I cannot,” the regret in Freeman’s voice sounded genuine, but it could have been faked. 

Med techs lied to their patients all the time, didn’t they? Perhaps Freeman was just using their friendship to easier mislead him. He and Eakins… always pretending to be his friends – but wasn’t it Eakins who dragged him to Sickbay with the help of another security type?

And now Freeman was trying to suffocate him with something that perhaps wasn’t even real water…

“But… you aren’t supposed to… to cause harm,” he reminded Freeman between two bouts of coughing. “I can’t… can’t breathe here, Colon! _Do_ something!”

“Well, I can perhaps loosen the restrains a bit,” Freeman said thoughtfully. “Doctor Pulaski didn’t want to put you under a force-field ‘cause you’re claustrophobic; we didn’t think the restraints would cause you to panic.”

He leaned over to loosen the strap around Hodel’s right hand. That was exactly what Mikal was waiting for. As soon as the strap became a tad looser, his hand sneaked out with lightning speed, He grabbed Freeman at the throat and squeezed hard, until the med tech lost consciousness. Then he dropped his so-called friend and began to loosen the rest of the straps to free himself.

Once that was achieved, he looked around for something he could use as a weapon bot found nothing, not even an injector. Well, it didn’t matter. He could always waylay one of the security types – they really weren’t that smart – and take his phaser.

What he needed now was a destination – and a plan. Where would he be safe? He could hardly get into the Armoury again; they would watch out for him now. But an engineer had more choices aboard a starship than anyone else. 

Now, what would be the best solution?

He called up the layout of Deck Eight, studying for a moment the network of Jefferies tunnels that led to the Auxiliary Control Room, also known as the Battle Bridge. Then he opened one of the access panels and slid into the service tunnel behind, with a maniacal grin on his handsome face.

He didn’t even forget to close the panel behind him.

 *** * * * * * * * * * * * * * ***  
On the Main Bridge the scanning of the planet was still running, with Data having roped in several junior members of the science department to help him. Even Worf, who had currently nothing else to do, helped them out from his own station… until he heard an alert signal from his panel.

It was Doctor Pulaski, who had just returned to Sickbay – and didn’t like what she found there.

“Security!” she sounded alarmed; which, in exchange, made Picard alarmed, as she wasn’t one to panic easily. “Crewman Hodel just left Sickbay while I was on the Bridge. It’s important that we find him; he is delusional and dangerous. He attacked and nearly killed Ensign Freeman before fleeing from the Intensive Care Area.”

“I thought the two were friends,” Worf growled.

“They are,” Pulaski replied, “but one of the symptoms of this disease is extreme paranoia. The crewman is not thinking clearly; neither are Commander Riker, Lieutenant Singh or Crewman Ames.”

“Understood,” Worf leaned towards his console. “Security Team Delta, alert! Pick up Crewman Hodel who left Sickbay moments ago. Keep in mind that he is paranoid and dangerous. Stun him if you have no other choice, but bring him back to Sickbay by any means necessary.”

“Understood,” the calm, competent voice of Ensign Burke replied.

Worf turned to Picard. “Anything further, Captain?”

Picard nodded. “Affirmative. Make it a ship-wide search, Lieutenant. We can’t risk spreading the illness.”

“Aye, sir,” the Klingon alerted the other security teams on duty, and then returned to his scans.

However, it was not him but Data who made the decisive discovery.

“Captain, ship scanners have detected a Starfleet-issue power source,” he reported. “It has the characteristics of a Mark II transportable power cell, inside of what appears to be a man-made structure.”

“What kind of structure?” Picard asked.

Data studied his readings. “It seems to be one of those modular shelters that research teams use as temporary field accommodations on missions on Class M planets, sir. I believe that we have found the missing _Beagle_ crewmen.”

“Any life-signs?”

“No higher life-forms, Captain. If the team is still down there, they are either in a shielded area…”

“… or dead,” Picard finished for him.

The android blinked. “I am afraid so, sir.”

“Very well, Mr Data. Assemble an Away Team and beam down to the planet with Doctor Pulaski to find them – dead or alive.”

“ _Me_ , sir?” the android asked in surprise. It didn’t happen frequently that he would lead an away mission.

“Well, Commander Riker is incapacitated; and besides, you have the best chance to avoid an infection,” Picard pointed out. “Not to mention that you’re our Science Officer. If there’s anything to be found down there, you _will_ find it. You have your orders, Commander. Carry them out.”


	7. A Grim Discovery

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Based on a story idea by JD Kurtz.  
> Doctor Martin is a canon character, played by actor Rick Martin. No, seriously! I just made him a Centaurian for fun.  
> Ensigns Baldor and Daro were conceived by author Herb Wright for another unfilmed script, “Blood and Ice”. They feature in my similarly-titled story.  
> The Aldebaran mud leech is canon. So is Doctor Asenzi.

*** * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
CHAPTER FOUR – A GRIM DISCOVERY**

The captain proved right with his assumption that Doctor Pulaski would want to go down to the planet personally, despite her transporter phobia. 

“I hope the _Beagle_ team had time to make at least some progress, and we might find the key we’ve been searching for,” she explained.

She left Doctor Selar in charge of Sickbay and took one of the new doctors with her; a tall, dark-skinned, red-eyed male from Alpha Centauri IV, who – like many other Centaurians – took on a Terran-sounding name upon joining Starfleet. 

It was a general courtesy towards outworldlers who couldn’t remember – _or_ pronounce – the long and complicated Centaurian names… save for Vulcans, of course. Or Saurians, whose names were even longer and more complicated. 

This particular Centaurian went by the name of Doctor Rick Martin, which made everyone’s life much easier, and specialized in virology, which made him eminently suited to take part in the away mission to Aldebaran IV.

The only other medical personnel Pulaski took with her was Ensign Simon Tarses: a recent addition to Sickbay and one with a Vulcan grandparent which, hopefully, meant better resistance against the unknown pathogen than a full human could hope for. As a med tech, Ensign Tarses was also trained in lab work and as a recent graduate from Starfleet Medical well-versed in the use of the newest technologies, so he was a logical addition to the Away Team, despite being new on board.

Following the same logic, Data added Ensigns Daro and Baldor to the team; the former a native Rigelian, the latter progeny of Romulan deflectors, both trained security officers with over a decade of experience under their belts. One could assume that their robust Vulcanoid physiology would protect them against the disease… at least for a while.

In fact, with the sole exception of Doctor Pulaski, all Away Team members were best suited to work on a hot and arid planet – if one didn’t count the swamps.

“Accordingly to the latest survey, which was thirty-nine standard years ago, the ocean that once covered ninety per cent of the planet’s surface has almost completely dried up,” Data summarized for the security officers who didn’t have previous knowledge about their destination as the team gathered in Transporter Room Three. “A mere twenty per cent of the surface is still covered in shallow, salty bogs, muddy swamps and marshes. The deepest ones are a mere four or five metres deep.”

“Meaning that most of the maritime species have become extinct,” Doctor Martin added. “Especially the deep sea creatures that wouldn’t have survived the lessening of the pressure.”

The two security officers had other concerns.

“What are the surface parameters?” Daro asked.

“The diameter of the plant is thirteen thousand one hundred and twenty-seven kilometres,” Data informed him. “The surface gravity is one point two G, also slightly higher than the Earth norm.”

“That should be no problem for _us_ ,” the Rigelian commented, gesturing in the vague direction of his fellow security officer.

The android nodded. “Which is why I have selected you for this away mission. Shall we? A day on Aldebaran IV is a mere thirty-six minutes longer than on Earth; we have only seven point two hours of daylight left.”

“Have you selected a landing area, sir?” Chief O’Brien asked.

“Set us down at these coordinates,” Data stepped up to the transporter operator’s console and tapped in a set of coordinates. “This will take us five point two metres from the power source we’ve detected.”

O’Brien re-checked the coordinates as always; then he nodded. “Ready whenever you are, Commander.”

The six Away Team members got into position on the spotlights of the transporter platform, and Data looked at Doctor Pulaski.

“Ready, Doctor?”

“As ready as I’ll ever be,” she replied with an unhappy grimace. “Let’s do this before I get the chance to change my mind.”

Data nodded. “Very well. Six to beam down, Mr O’Brien.”

“Energizing!” O’Brien slid his hand over the sensor controls and the Away Team dissolved into sparkling energy.

 *** * * * * * * * * * * * * * * ***  
Data took in as many details of the place as he could in the instant between first return of vision for the rest of the Away Team and the transporter effect’s release. With his superior vision and his computer-like capacity of analyse the facts it did not take long to absorb what little the landscape had to offer.

And _that_ was mostly sand. Sand and more sand. The overwhelming majority of water had been gone so long from the surface that the very skin of the ground had cracked and shrunken, leaving a scaly surface that looked like widely spaced little islands with black cracks of nothing between them.

Miles away to left and right, where the banks of a once wide and deep river rose up to make ancient floodplains, broken structures with the height and regularity of artificial constructs stretched out – the sad remains of cities long gone. Depressing hints of lives swallowed up by the dryness until only dust remained… and the shards of a once blossoming civilization.

Even knowing that the native Aldebarans actually _had_ made it to the sister planet of their increasingly hostile homeworld, the loss was palpable.

The only sign of civilization was a regular, Starfleet-issue shelter – the kind that was usually stored and transported in disassembled state and put together right were they were needed. The components of these shelters came in two colours, beige and grey, since the pieces could be assembled in any order. 

This particular shelter, put together with the grey components on the outside, was sitting in the middle of the hard-baked erstwhile waterway. On its side, right under the Starfleet logo stood the name of the ship from which it came: USS _Beagle_.

Beyond the river banks, barely visible for the naked eye – but not for an android’s visual receptors – the borders of an extensive swamp could be seen, the muddy surface extending away from their position into eternity. It was distant enough to be safe from any creatures that might creep out of the shallow waters in search for food, but well within reach for research purposes.

“A logical choice for a research base,” Data nodded when Ensign Daro commented on their location; then he turned to Pulaski. “How do you wish to proceed, Doctor?”

“Let’s start with the shelter,” Pulaski suggested. “They’d have installed their lab in there, protected from any possible weather conditions.”

She was already on the move to enter the small building but Data held her back.

“Let me go first, Doctor. While it is unlikely that anybody would be still alive in there, unknown factors could have masked their life-signs.”

“ _We_ are Security,” Ensign Baldor pointed out. “It is _our_ job to take point in situations like this.”

“That is correct; but you are also organic beings, prone to catch infections,” Data replied her. “I am not. Now, make room for me, Ensign; we do not have the time for this. That is an order.”

Since he was the leader of the Away Team – and since he outranked them anyway, with the sole exception of Pulaski – the others reluctantly obeyed. Data entered the shelter… only to come back less than a minute later.

“You can come in,” he said, his carefully modulated artificial voice expressing very convincing regret. “There is no-one alive in there. I would suggest breathing masks, though, just in case.”

 *** * * * * * * * * * * * * * * ***  
The standard modular shelters used by Starfleet were, as a rule, divided in the inside into a living area and a communal sleeping area, the latter consisting of field beds and individual lockers for the personal possessions of the team members. Both areas could be extended by adding more elements, accommodating to the size of the research team.

The shelter of the _Beagle_ team was fairly small, since it had only held three people. The living area had clearly been turned into a research lab, computers and medical equipment lining the walls and littering the long table in the middle. Two rotating chairs and a lab stool stood around the table – and in the two chairs and on the floor next to the lab stool were three dead bodies, mummified in the planet’s dry air.

One of them was an Andorian; a representative of the most common and numerous _Thalassan_ subspecies, clearly recognizably by his knobbly antennae that stuck up from the top of his head and curved forward. He wore civilian clothes – a nondescript dark coverall with the stiff vest Andorian _than_ s, one of the four Andorian genders considered male by outsiders, preferred.

“According to DNA analysis this is Doctor Tharinjar th’Saarash, the civilian botanist serving on board the _Beagle_ on temporary assignment,” Ensign Tarses said, consulting his medical tricorder.

The useful little tool was capable of analysing DNA samples; granted, only for identifying people whose muster was already stored in its database, but it still came in handy on missions like this.

“This one is human,” Doctor Martin added, kneeling next to the dead woman lying on the floor, and ran the same analysis on his own tricorder. “Med tech Linda Gayheart, according to her DNA. She was also on the list of missing crewmen,”

“The third one must be Doctor Andron, then,” Pulaski’s voice was a bit muffled by the adhesive breathing mask that was covering her face.

They all looked strangely artificial with the transparent masks, Doctor Martin found, much more so than Data. Perhaps because they were used to the android’s appearance, while one expected a much more… mobile face from fellow organics.

Pulaski took a sample from the third body and ran the DNA analysis.

“He’s a Betazoid all right,” she said when the results started coming up; then, as the analysis had run its cycle, she nodded grimly. “We have a positive identification: this _is_ Doctor Cair Andron. What a shame; he was an excellent medical researcher and a name-worthy xenobiologist.”

“Let’s hope he and the others didn’t die for nothing,” Doctor Martin replied. “We should start studying their research at once; time’s running out.”

Pulaski nodded. “Agreed. We’ll split the results between us to save time. Simon, you’ll take over the place of Miss Gayheart and check on her results…”

“Yes, Doctor,” Ensign Tarses grabbed various isolinear chips and slides lying on the long table and crammed them into a viewer.

Pulaski looked at Doctor Martin. “You are the virologist. Why don’t you see how far Doctor Andron has come with his research, while I check on the results of the Andorian?”

The Centaurian nodded and set to work without delay.

“Doctor,” Data said quietly, “have you not forgotten something?”

“What do you mean?”

“The bodies.”

“They can’t help us,” Pulaski said. “We know _what_ killed them, but the virus won’t be present any longer in them. It cannot survive in dead tissue.”

“Perhaps not; but we cannot say for certain that they are no longer contagious,” Data pointed out. “For all that we know the virus could simply have gone dormant in them and might be reactivated due to the presence of potential new hosts. I suggest that we incarcerate the bodies to prevent the spread of the disease. Taking them back to the _Enterprise_ would be an unnecessary risk.”

“Fine,” Pulaski replied impatiently. “You see to it. I’ve got more urgent things to do,” and with that, she returned to her research.

Data and the two security officers carried the mummified bodies with great care to a shallow dent in the hard-baked ground, some thirty metres away from the shelter. It was delicate work as the bodies proved extremely brittle and they did not want to leave any potentially contagious body parts behind where the other half of the team was working on – hopefully – saving them all.

“How do you want to do this, sir?” the Rigelian asked when the bodies were lying side by side in their shallow grave.

“I believe the best solution would be to set our phasers at maximum discharge,” Data replied. “That would not only disintegrate the bodies themselves but also take care of the decontamination problem.”

Which was true, of course. _Nothing_ could survive a full phaser discharge; not even a virus.

Thus they set their phasers at maximum and, after the bodies were gone, they swept the dent and its closest environment with wide-fanned phaser beams as thoroughly as possible. There was always the odd chance that they’d miss something, of course, microscopic life-forms being what they are, but they tried their best – and there was nothing else that they could do under the given circumstances.

“That will be enough,” Data said when the sand in and around the dent was molten into black glass. “We did what we could; we can only hope it was enough. I shall go and help the research team now.”

“And what should _we_ do, sir?” the Romulan asked.

“Stay outside the shelter and keep your eyes open,” Data answered. “We have not detected any higher life-forms while scanning the planet, but you cannot know what lives in that huge swamp… and what might decide to crawl out of it. Be alert.”

The security guards nodded in unison, and the three of them turned around to go back to the shelter.

 *** * * * * * * * * * * * * * * ***  
Meanwhile aboard the _Enterprise_ the hunt for the escaped Crewman Hodel was still going on – with little to no results.

“He briefly emerged on Deck Eight, attacked Ensign Baila, took his phaser and disappeared again,” a _very_ unhappy Ensign Burke reported to Worf, fairly certain that the Klingon would take off his head for this news.

He was _not_ disappointed.

“And what was Baila doing, letting him taking his phaser like some clueless amateur?” Worf roared. “He is a trained security officer with a decade of service under his belt; Crewman Hodel is merely an engineer!”

“An engineer who knows his way through the service tunnels better than any of us could hope for,” Crewman Tallman, a tall, athletic redhead who knew fifteen different ways to kill a man twice her size with her bare hands, commented dryly.

“But what is he doing on Deck Eight?” Burke asked. “What can he possibly want there? It’s nothing there he could use for his advantage, whatever plan he might have hatched out in that feverish mind of his.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t say _that_ ,” Ensign Nagel from Tactical said grimly. “He’s a diagnostic engineer; machines are his greatest advantage. And the Auxiliary Control Room happens to be on Deck Eight.”

“You mean he’ll try to take control of the entire ship from the Battle Bridge?” Tallman asked doubtfully.

“A simple enough solution – for an engineer,” Nagel replied. "And once he’s done that, we’d be helpless. Completely helpless. Isn’t that what happened on the _Beagle_?” She turned to Worf. “Sir, I’d put a guard on the Auxiliary Control Room if I were you. Better safe than sorry.”

Worf hesitated for a moment, but knowing about Nagel’s excellent tactical abilities – not to mention her advanced tactical training only recently absolved at the Security Academy in Annapolis – he nodded to Tallman.

“Go. I’ll send you back-up as soon as possible.

“Aye, sir,” Tallman grabbed a phaser and entered the nearest turbolift.

 *** * * * * * * * * * * * * * * ***  
On the Bridge Picard was listening to the preliminary report of Doctor Pulaski.

“It appears that the _Beagle_ ’s research team has managed to identify he virus,” their chief medical officer explained. “It is a parasite living in the digestive tract of the Aldebaran mud leech.”

“Which is what exactly?” Picard asked.

“A small annelid worm native to the mud of the Aldebaran system,” Pulaski replied. “Known to Terran medicine since the twenty-second century, due to a medical exchange program initiated by the Vulcans. In any case, they can be used to treat insomnia, as their secretions act as a natural sedative – which is the likely reason why the Aldebarans chose to take the species with them when they switched planets some seven thousand years ago. The usual practice is to place one leech on one’s chest and one on the abdomen an hour before going to bed.”

“That’s all very interesting, but how came those worms aboard the _Beagle_ ; and how comes that no such problems were ever reported from the Aldebaran Colony?” Picard shook his head in bewilderment.

“The mud leeches on the Aldebaran Colony are harmless; they don’t have any parasites that could become a danger for other life-forms,” Pulaski said. “The others on Aldebaran IV, however, are clearly contaminated; a possible result of the drastic environmental changes.”

“That still doesn’t explain how they got aboard the _Beagle_ ,” Picard pointed out. “Could the teams searching for raw dilithium have picked them up accidentally?”

“I am afraid it was not an accident, Captain,” Data answered in Pulaski’s stead. “According to Doctor Andron’s medical logs – which he, fortunately, stored on his personal tricorder – one of the _Beagle_ ’s engineers, a human from the Aldebaran Colony, was suffering from chronic insomnia. He discovered the mud leeches while on the dilithium retrieval mission, recognized them and took a couple of them with him to their temporary camp. Leech therapy is still widely used on Aldebaran IV.”

“You’re kidding, right?”

“Not at all, sir. It is very effective, without any side effects. However, it is necessary to sleep on one’s back while trying this treatment, as rolling over might anger the creatures – according to Doctor Phlox, who kept some Aldebaran mud leeches in his sickbay aboard the _Enterprise_ NX-01, back in the twenty-second century.”

“And what do they do when angered?”

“Uncertain, sir, but they _might_ bite; and if they do, the virus in their digestive tract might be released into the host body,” the android explained.

Picard closed his eyes. “It was no inevitable accident, then,” he said.

“No, sir. It was simple human error,” Data answered.

“With lethal consequences.”

“I am afraid so, Captain.”

“However, the good news is that the _Beagle_ crew has found a plant – some kind of moss that has adapted to living at the edges of the salt swamps – which might be able to reverse the effects of the virus,” Pulaski interfered. “Unfortunately, they ran out of time before they could use it. I am going to try to finish what they started. So far the results are promising.”

Picard nodded in relief. “That is good news indeed, Doctor. I only ask that you hurry. Things are getting out of hand on board the _Enterprise_.”

“I know; I’ve spoken to Doctor Asenzi,” Pulaski replied. “We’ll do our best, Captain. Pulaski out.”


	8. Déja Vu All Over Again

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Crewman Tallman is an unnamed security guard aboard the Enterprise D; I named her after Patricia Tallman, the actress/stuntwoman who played her.  
> Doctor Asenzi is a canon character – sort of. We never actually seen him but he was called to the Bridge in the pilot.  
> According to _The Next Generation Technical Manual_ , the shuttle bays could indeed be transformed into medical facilities. Even the VIP quarters could be turned into intensive care units.

*** * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
CHAPTER FIVE – DÉJÁ VU ALL OVER AGAIN**

Down on the hard-baked surface of Aldebaran IV Doctor Pulaski have the android a decidedly unfriendly glare.

“Human error, eh?” She asked. “Something machines would never make, right? You think you’re above us all; just because you’re not dying like the rest of us?”

Data was shocked by the hostility of the chief medical officer; well, as shocked as he could get anyway.

“I assure you, Doctor, that is not the case. On the contrary: while I might be superior in many ways, I would gladly give up my so-called advantages to be human.”

“There’s no use to argue with her,” Doctor Martin looked up from his instruments. “She’s starting to fall under the influence of the disease; she’s not thinking rationally.”

“I thought she was a carrier without symptoms,” Data said in surprise.

The Centaurian nodded. “She _was_. She no longer is.”

“What happened?”

“I’m not sure,” the virologist admitted. “My best guess would be that getting back into its natural environment reactivated the virus somehow. We’ll need to make a full analysis.”

“We don not have the time for that, Doctor.”

“I’m aware of the fact, Commander. Which is why we’re gonna use her as a guinea pig as soon as the vaccine is ready.”

“Is that ethical?” Ensign Tarses asked worriedly.

Doctor Martin shrugged. “Perhaps not; but that’s the only thing that might save her – _and_ the rest of us.”

“I see,” Data blinked, his positronic brain analyzing the situation with a speed incomprehensible for organic beings. “Carry on then. And as for you, Doctor,” he turned to Pulaski, “I suggest that you not lose control. Your knowledge will be needed before this is over.”

Pulaski took a deep breath and tried to bring herself under control. Considering how quickly everyone else who was infected had lost it, there was little hope that she would actually manage. But she had the advantage of medical knowledge – knowing what was happening to her did help, despite all expectations otherwise – as well as that of an iron will, and after a moment or two she somehow managed to calm down.

“Agreed,” she said. “I’ll try my best. But should I fail to do so, I want you to stun me – or anyone else of the team – before we would cause any damage. The vaccine must be completed. A thousand lives aboard the _Enterprise_ depend on it; compared with _that_ , we are expendable.”

Data simply nodded in agreement, and they all returned to their respective research.

 *** * * * * * * * * * * * * * * ***  
Crewman Trish Tallman chose to guard the Auxiliary Control Room (which she still called the Battle Bridge mentally; like Worf, she was a true warrior at heart) from within. Most people would have seen this as a stupid decision, but she had taken Ensign Nagel’s words to heart: an engineer had different advantages than a security guard.

Engineers were trained to solve problems, sometimes in an unorthodox and highly creative manner. Aside from that, engineers had a much more detailed knowledge about the ship’s layout; particularly about the maintenance tunnels, through which they could reach every part of the ship easily.

Anyone else would get confused and inevitable lost in the maze of Jefferies tubes and tunnels. Not an engineer, though. For them, crawling around in the intestines of the ship was a natural thing to do. That was what they did for a living, after all.

They also had a different way of thinking. A bridge officer – or a security guard, for that matter – would simply march up to the hatch of the Auxiliary Control Room and try to negotiate with the guard on duty; or take him or her out. An engineer was trained to think _around_ the problem; to find alternate ways to solve it. Ways that other people would find incomprehensible, surprising or downright insane.

Ways that usually _worked_ , nine times out of ten.

Therefore Crewman Tallman estimated that Hodel, a diagnostic engineer among the best, would want to gain direct access to the Auxiliary Control Room, without being held up by some guard posted in front of it. That meant a direct approach, most likely through one of the maintenance tunnels.

Unless he chose the turbolift, but that was rather unlikely. Even the best engineer could have been cornered – or trapped – in a ‘lift cabin way too easily.

That left the maintenance tunnels. Even if Tallman was wrong and Hodel did come through the front hatch, being in the Auxiliary Control Room already would give her an advantage. More so with the maintenance tunnel, where Hodel would have to remove the access panel first and then clamber to his feet before he could take any hostile actions.

So, waiting within the Auxiliary Control Room did make a lot of sense, actually.

The only problem was that the room had several tunnels leading into it: as many as six, in fact, situated next to the various duty stations around the circular room. Which meant that it was literally impossible for a single person to keep an eye on them all simultaneously; unless they had three-hundred-and-sixty-degree vision – which Tallman had _not_. She could only hope that Lieutenant Worf would send the promised back-up, soon.

In the meantime she helped herself as well as she could: by placing proximity sensors in front of each tunnel exit, linking them to her tricorder. She was seriously tempted to fuse all the access panels closed, but that would mean to make the Battle Bridge inaccessible for maintenance personnel, so she reluctantly gave up on the idea.

The next best thing she could do was to block all access panels with the help of the Battle Bridge’s tactical station, but she knew that would do her little good. The lowest-ranking engineering technician could manually override the block by simply stating an emergency. But if nothing else, that could buy her some time.

She was almost done with her security precautions when she felt rather than heard movement behind her back. She spun around and looked directly into the sweaty face of Mikal Hodel – and down the barrel of a phaser aimed directly at her head.

“It was a good idea,” the engineer said with a maniacal grin, “but you’re late. I was already here.”

In the next moment she felt white-hot pain in her head as the phaser beam hit her and the world went dark.

 *** * * * * * * * * * * * * * * ***  
On the Main Bridge Chief Engineer Argyle received an alert from the engineering deck.

“What the hell…” he muttered, pushing the comm button to contact the duty officer down there, who happened to be his spouse. “Jim, what’s going on?”

“We have a serious problem, Chief,” Shimoda replied in concern. “It seems that auxiliary control has been locked off, with the environmental and warp systems being controlled from that area. Can you override it from the Bridge? ‘Cause I don’t get any access from here.”

Argyle shook his head. “There is no way to override it once control has been transferred to the Auxiliary Control Room, and you know that.”

“Then what are we supposed to do?”

“You can’t do a thing at the moment. I’ll speak to the captain and to Lieutenant Worf and call you back. Bridge out.”

He broke the connection and walked up to the command chair.

“Captain, somebody has gained access to the Auxiliary Control Room; somebody with enough technical knowledge to reroute control over the environmental _and_ the warp systems there.”

“Can you override it?” Picard asked with exactly the same words as before Shimoda; and he got the exact same answer.

“No, sir. This is an emergency measure that can only be reversed from the Auxiliary Control Room. We’ll have to go there, neutralize the culprit and reverse orders.”

Picard looked at Worf. “I thought you placed a guard at the Auxiliary Control Room, Lieutenant.”

“I did,” the Klingon growled and activated the communications system. “Worf to Crewman Tallman. Report.”

There was no answer. The Klingon tried another way.

“Computer, locate Crewman Tallman.”

“Crewman Tallman is in the Auxiliary Control Room,” the calm, emotionless female voice of the computer replied.

“ _In_ the Auxiliary Control Room?” Picard echoed in surprise.

“Affirmative,” the computer answered. “Crewman Tallman entered the Auxiliary Control Room four point two minutes ago, blocked the access panels of the maintenance tunnels and did not leave again.”

Picard looked at Worf askance, but the Klingon shook his massive head.

“Crewman Tallman has neither the security clearance nor the technical knowledge to reroute any main systems to the Battle Bridge,” he raised his voice slightly. “Computer, can you read any other life-signs in the Auxiliary Control Room than those of Crewman Tallman?”

“Affirmative,” the artificial voice answered. “One life-sign; half human, half Daliwakan.”

“Crewman Hodel,” Worf stated grimly. “Apparently, he got there faster than Tallman and managed to take her out. Computer, is Crewman Tallman still showing life-signs?”

“Affirmative. Based on the readings she is alive yet heavily stunned.”

“Well, that is a relief, at least,” Picard said. “But we have to deal with the situation quickly, before we’d end up like the _Beagle_. Mr Worf, have a security team meet me at Auxiliary Control.”

“Captain, you’re not supposed to put yourself at risk!” Worf protested. “I am the chief of security…”

“And you’re also a Klingon,” Picard interrupted him. “Should you lose control, we won’t be able to restrain you in a crowded corridor. No, Lieutenant; _I’ll_ go and you’ll have the Bridge.”

“Aye, sir,” the Klingon replied unhappily and ordered Lieutenant Eakins to take his team and meet the captain at the Auxiliary Control Room.

 *** * * * * * * * * * * * * * * ***  
The security team was already waiting at the hatch of the Auxiliary Control Room when Picard arrived and Lieutenant Eakins, a long-time personal friend of Crewman Hodel, was begging the engineer to let him in.

“What for?” came the somewhat hysterical answer through the comm system. “We’re all dying anyway; I’m just helping everyone out by speeding up the process.”

“Crewman,” Picard said sternly,” this is the captain. I am _ordering_ you to cease your current activities and open the hatch.”

“Sorry, Captain, can’t do,” Hodel replied. He actually _did_ sound apologetic. “Trust me; this is the best for everyone on this ship.”

“How could killing us all be the best?” Picard asked.

“You haven’t been on the _Beagle_ , haven’t seen all the dead people there,” Hodel’s voice was rising as hysteria got the upper hand. “ _I have_. I’m truly sorry, but I _must_ do this.”

And from then on he didn’t answer them.

“This is pointless,” Picard said to Eakins. “Lieutenant, I want this hatch blown open, right away. We have no more time to waste.”

Eakins shook his head in concern. He might not be an engineer, but he knew the layout of the Battle Bridge better than most.

“That would be a risky move, Captain,” he argued. “We could damage to the guidance control computers. They are located next to the entrance.”

To the shocked surprise of everyone present, the captain grabbed the lieutenant at the throat and slammed him against the wall.

“Why does everyone argue with me nowadays?” Picard roared. “This is not a scientific debate, Lieutenant; I _demand_ that you follow orders or so God help me, I’ll have you – _all_ of you – thrown into the brig and throw the key out of the nearest airlock.”

The four-man security team watched helplessly as their team leader was getting blue in the face while the captain was squeezing his throat harder and harder.

Had the culprit been anyone else, they’d have stunned him already; but they all had a deeply ingrained reluctance to raise a hand against a commanding officer – especially against the captain of the ship. So they just stood there, gawking and trying to come up with a way to solve the situation… and failing.

Fortunately for Eakins, this was the moment when the turbolift doors slid open behind their backs and out walked Doctor Selar, who had been called to the Auxiliary Control Room to treat Hodel if necessary. The Vulcan surveyed the situation for a moment; then she calmly walked up to Picard and grabbed the hand holding Eakins’s throat in an iron grip.

“I suggest that you calm down, Captain, and let go of the lieutenant,” she said with cool professional detachment. “Otherwise I will be forced to break your arm.”

Her tone was so matter-of-fact that it brought Picard out of his fugue. He let Eakins go and pulled back, reddening in embarrassment as he realized what he’d been doing.

“My apologies, Lieutenant. I don’t know what came upon me.”

Eakins was still unable to speak, so he just nodded, fingering his throat, clearly in pain.

“Bruised windpipe,” Doctor Selar diagnosed, checking him with her medical scanner. “Report to Sickbay, Lieutenant; Doctor Asenzi will repair it for you in a minute.”

Eakins nodded in agreement and left. Regaining his sense, Picard turned to Crewman Aaron who automatically took over the security team in Eakins’s absence.

“Get a plasma engineer to cut through the hatch,” he told the man. “This has gone on long enough.”

 *** * * * * * * * * * * * * * * ***  
Sickbay reminded one of a field hospital when Eakins reached it. Every single bed – save the one reserved for Hodel – in the Intensive Care Area was occupied, and on each biobed in the secondary facility on the starboard side of Deck Twelve was lying a patient, most of them restrained, to keep them from escaping.

Nurses and med techs were running to and fro between the primary and secondary wards, carrying virotherapeutic equipment to treat the patients as well as they could. Based on the looks of the sweating, delirious people all over the medical deck, the treatment didn’t prove very effective.

Assistant Chief Medical Officer Ismail Asenzi – a short, wiry, olive-skinned man in his middle years, who hailed from the Medina Colony – was overseeing the organized chaos with a certain degree of resignation.

“If Doctor Pulaski and the others don’t find something down on that planet soon, we’ll have to convert one of the sickbays to a medium-care hospital facility, so that we can treat the most serious cases here,” he said pessimistically. “I just hope that we’ll have enough medical personnel left to actually do so.”

He gestured Eakins into one of the examination rooms.

“Come in, Lieutenant, and have a seat. I know it’s no comfort for you, but for me it is almost a relief to have such a mundane in jury that I _can_ heal.”

He pushed Eakins down onto the examination table and selected a medical instrument to treat his bruised throat.

 *** * * * * * * * * * * * * * * ***  
Down on the planet surface Katherine Pulaski was watching their makeshift equipment work. She would have preferred to do this in Sickbay, in a proper lab, but they all agreed that returning to the _Enterprise_ without a working vaccine would mean to put everyone to even greater risk. 

They could accidentally take even more pathogens with them; or different ones.

“I expect that a great deal of research will be necessary until we can be sure that landing on Aldebaran IV would be safe,” she said, aiming her words at Doctor Martin who was studying the late Doctor Andron’s research notes, copying everything to his PDA.

The Centaurian nodded, without looking up from his instrument.

“A thorough survey of the planet’s remaining life-forms will also be necessary, using fully automated probes,” he said. “I’ll suggest Starfleet Medical to put the planet under quarantine for at least fifty standard years.”

“ _Fifty_ years?” Simon Tarses exclaimed. “Isn’t that a bit of overkill, Doctor?”

“Not at all,” Martin replied grimly. “We can’t know what else is lurking in those stinking swamps; and we can’t risk another outbreak like this.”

“And we have been fairly fortunate so far,” Data pointed out. “The sacrifice of Captain Haje helped to contain the disease. I do not even like to think about what might have happened, had they reached any inhabited worlds.”

“Linus Haje was a brave man; and a smart one at that,” Pulaski agreed. “A shame that he had to die so young; but at least he died in the line of duty, protecting others. It would give him some comfort at the end.”

“Did you know Captain Haje, Doctor?” Data asked in surprise.

Pulaski shook her head. “Not personally. But my first husband hailed from the Valhalla Colony, too; I am familiar with the mindset of the people who grew up there. They have a very strong sense of duty and a highly developed protective instinct; not exactly surprising for the inhabitants of a harsh tundra world.”

Doctor Martin, coming from a hot and arid desert planet himself, shuddered at the mere thought.

“Couldn’t they have established a weather control grid?” he asked.

Pulaski smiled. “They could. They chose not to.”

“Why?”

“When I asked Thor, that is my first husband, the same question, he told me that they liked their planet the way it is,” Pulaski smiled fondly.

Her first husband must have been a great guy, Doctor Martin decided.

At this very moment there was an alarm from the computer supervising the lab equipment, indicating that their experiments were complete.

“About time,” Pulaski muttered, removing a vial of green fluid from the makeshift synthesiser set up by the late Doctor Andron. “I just hope it’s gonna do what we expect it to do, otherwise I’m fresh out of ideas.”

She inserted the phial into a hypospray injector, pushed the injector into Ensign Tarses’s hand and, after having rolled up the sleeve of her blue uniform tunic, she held out her arm to the med tech.

“What are you waiting for, Simon? Inject me already! I’d do it myself, but my hand is no longer steady enough.”

“I’m still not sure you should be the first to test the vaccine, Doctor,” the ensign began, but Pulaski interrupted him.

“But I am. Doctor Martin is right: I’m already infected; I’ve begun to show the first symptoms. Unlike the rest of you, I’ve nothing to lose but everything to win,” she gave the duly intimidated med tech a quelling look. “Do I have to make this a direct order, Ensign?”

“N-no, ma’am,” Tarses stuttered and obediently injected the experimental vaccine into her arm. Pulaski gave him an encouraging nod, mollified by the fact that her orders had been carried out.

A moment later she collapsed to the floor.


	9. A Narrow Escape

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’ve checked the Memory Alpha Wiki and found no anti-allergic medicines listed. So I simply went with contemporary stuff. If anyone knows about genuine Star Trek anti-allergics, please say so and give me the reference link. I’ll give you due credit, of course.
> 
> Doctor Rota Sevrin appeared in the Classic episode “The Way to Eden”. Worf’s “esteemed grandfather” is, of course, Colonel Worf from the 6th Star Trek film, “The Undiscovered Country”.

*** * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
CHAPTER SIX – A NARROW ESCAPE**

“What happened to Doctor Pulaski?” Data asked in understandable concern.

Doctor Martin checked their chief medical officer with the medical scanner and let out a relieved sigh upon seeing the readings.

“She’s fine,” he replied. “A mildly allergic reaction to the plant from which the vaccine has been derived; nothing we can’t deal with.”

“So, what’s happening now?” Ensign Tarses looked at the injector in his hand in dismay.

“Now we’ll take a blood sample and see if the vaccine has done what it was supposed to do,” the virologist answered. “Would you do the honours, Ensign?”

“Of course, Doctor,” Simon Tarses pressed a small, triangular device to Doctor Pulaski’s wrist, and while it took a blood sample and analysed it, they all waited with bated breath.

Finally the instrument made a pinging sound, signalling that it had finished the analysis. Ensign Tarses checked the readings – and broke out in a wide grin that looked almost strange on his usually troubled face.

“I think we have a winner, Doctor,” he announced. “The virus has been destroyed by the vaccine.”

“Great,” Doctor Martin said. “Let us return to the _Enterprise_ and begin mass production. We’ve got a thousand people to vaccinate; that will take time. Time that some patients like Commander Riker, Lieutenant Singh and that poor Ames no longer have.”

“A good thing that we can synthesize the vaccine,” Ensign Tarses commented, packing his medkit with well-practiced precision. “We’d never be able to brew a thousand doses the old-fashioned way. Not fast enough.”

“That’s for certain,” Doctor Martin agreed; then he touched his comm badge. “Away Team to _Enterprise. Enterprise_ , do you read me?”

There was no answer. He tried a few more time and so did Data, but to no avail.

“This is not good,” the Centaurian said. “We need to get back on board as soon as possible. The people need the vaccine; and Doctor Pulaski needs anti-allergic treatment before she goes into anaphylactic shock. It would be ironic to be killed by the very thing that was supposed to save her life.”

“You said you could deal with the allergic reaction,” Data reminded him.

“I can – in Sickbay. We don’t have any cortisone derivates or antihistamines with us.”

“I thought anti-allergics were included in a standard field kit,” Data said with a very convincing frown.

The doctor nodded. “They are; but we don’t have a standard field kit with us. We’ve brought special equipment for virotherapy and research stuff. It’s vital that we take her back to the _Enterprise_ without further delay.”

“I see,” Data said. “I shall do my best to re-establish contact while you pack everything that might prove useful for further research.”

 *** * * * * * * * * * * * * * * ***  
On the _Enterprise_ Bridge, Geordi LaForge was checking and re-checking the readings of his navigational computer with a frown.

“Sir, our orbit is starting to break up,” he reported to Worf who was currently had command. “I don’t know what Crewman Hodel is doing in the Auxiliary Control Room, but he must have messed up the guidance control computers seriously for this to happen.”

“Can you level out the orbit?” the Klingon asked.

Geordi shook his head. “Flight control has been rerouted to the Battle Bridge, and it doesn’t seem as if anybody would be actually sitting at the controls over there.”

“Let’s hope Security manages to get Crewman Hodel out of the Auxiliary Control Room in time,” Picard said, entering the Bridge.

Worf hurriedly vacated the command chair, returning to Tactical. Picard took his place, tugged down his uniform jacked and wiped his sweaty brow with a sleeve – a highly unusual gesture coming from him, one nobody had observed before. 

Troi briefly wondered whether he, too, was beginning to fall under the influence of the virus. She made a mental note to keep an unobtrusive eye on the captain, just in case.

“Any news from the Away Team?” Picard was asking in the meantime.

Worf shook his head. “No, but that must not mean anything. Communication channels have been rapidly disintegrating in the last half-hour. I’ve already alerted Chief Keesdan,” he nodded in the direction of one of the aft engineering stations, where the chief of communications was sitting. “He’s working on the problem.”

“Unfortunately, there’s little enough I can do from here,” Artro Keesdan, a native from Tiburon – easily recognisable by the stereotypical cauliflower ears – said apologetically.

Which was _not_ encouraging – to put it mildly. _Nobody_ would even come close to the wizardry Tiburonians could perform with the communication system. When one of _them_ started rubbing his large, lettuce-shaped ears – their equivalent of a helpless shrug – then the ship was in serious trouble.

Especially if the Tiburonian in question was as old and experienced as Chief Keesdan, who used to be a pupil of Doctor Rota Sevrin in his younger years. There weren’t many people left, even among the long-living Tiburonians, who could have boasted with _that_.

“Have you tried to rotate channels?” Worf, who was only ever impressed by fighting skills, demanded.

Chief Keesdan rolled his eyes. “Lieutenant, I’ve been working with communication systems while your esteemed grandfather was still but a gleam in his father’s eye. Do me the favour of doing _your_ job and let _me_ do mine.”

For a moment or two he worked on his station with the typical focused intensity of his kind, listening to the garbled noise coming from the tiny loudspeaker on his instrumental panel. Then he looked back over his shoulder to Picard.

“Captain, I’ve got Commander Data through a tertiary channel, but the connection is too weak to put it through the main system.”

“Can you understand what he’s saying?” Picard asked.

“Of course, sir. He reports that they’ve finished the experiments started by the _Beagle_ team and the vaccine seems to be working, but Doctor Pulaski had an allergic reaction to it and needs to be taken to Sickbay.”

“Tell him I’ll have them beamed up immediately,” Picard was already contacting O’Brien in Transporter Room Three, giving the necessary orders, while the rest of the bridge crew stared at the communications chief, impressed.

“And you got all that information from that garbled nonsense by your ear alone?” Ensign Gibson, standing in for Data at the Ops position, asked in awe.

Keesdan stroked the aforementioned body parts with proprietary pride.

“Highly developed organic audio receptors,” he explained. “You humans have no idea. Not even biotechnology can come close.”

A few people grinned. The tension on the Bridge eased a little… until LaForge checked his navigational computer again.

“Captain, our orbit is decaying rapidly,” he reported, his usually nice cocoa brown face ash grey with panic. “Hull temperature is now nine hundred degrees Kelvin. Not even reinforced deuterium can hold out much longer!”

“Unless we manage to fix our orbit somehow, and that soon, the disease will be the least of our problems,” Chief Engineer Argyle added grimly.

“What if we allowed the _Enterprise_ to slingslot her way across the atmosphere of the planet? That might let us break out of orbit,” Geordi suggested.

Argyle scratched his head. “Theoretically, that should be possible. But we won’t be able to calculate the vector safely; not even with the help of the computer. We can’t provide it with the exact parameters.”

“We don’t need to; we have _Data_ ,” Geordi touched his comm badge. “LaForge to Transporter Room Three. Has the Away Team returned?”

“They’ve just rematerialized,” O’Brien’s voice answered.

“Good. Commander Data needs to report to the Bridge immediately.”

“I am on my way, Geordi,” the calm voice of the android replied and the connection was broken.

Picard looked at his chief engineer doubtfully. “I hope you know what you’re doing, Mr Argyle.”

“Honestly, Captain? So do I,” the bearded man replied. “But the sad truth is, I can’t think of anything else we could try. At least Lieutenant LaForge’s idea might work.”

“There are no guarantees, though, right?”

“There never are, Captain. What we do have here is a chance; at least a rather solid one, or so I hope.”

“Very well,” Picard said after a moment of consideration. “Let’s give it a try then.”

 *** * * * * * * * * * * * * * * ***  
Sickbay looked like a henhouse without a rooster to keep his hens reined in, or so Doctor Martin found when they finally reached the examination area with Doctor Pulaski’s stretcher. It was a false, not to mention unfair impression, though. Yes, both wings were filled with hectic activity, but it was a well-organized chaos, in which everyone knew exactly what he or she was supposed to do.

Doctor Selar and Doctor Asenzi had clearly divided the necessary tasks between them, with the former supervising the patients in the Intensive Care Area as well as the labs, and the latter running the medium care areas and dealing with everything not related to the disease. Surprisingly enough – or perhaps not so surprisingly, seeing that a Vulcan was in care of organizing everything – people didn’t seem to hinder each other in any manner.

Therefore it was Doctor Asenzi who took over the still unconscious Doctor Pulaski, while Doctor Selar snatched the vaccine from Doctor Martin and started the replication process at once.

“In ten minutes we shall be able to vaccinate the most serious cases, namely Commander Riker, Lieutenant Singh and Crewman Ames,” she declared. “We shall then widen the circle to the less serious cases; and finally go over to the prophylactic vaccination of the medical personnel and the entire crew.”

“We should also run a Level Four decontamination of the whole ship; it would be highly irresponsible to risk spreading the virus to other ships; or to inhabited planets,” Brad Zerbst, one of the senior med techs, added.

Doctor Martin nodded. “I’ll suggest a six-week quarantine and no physical contact to anyone outside the ship, until we can be absolutely certain that we’ve got rid of the virus completely.”

“The captain won’t like it,” Nurse Temple commented.

The Centaurian shrugged. “Tough. I’m sure that Doctor Pulaski will agree; and in such matters she outranks even the captain.”

“And, unlike our dear Beverly, she’s not afraid to use her prerogatives as the chief medical officer,” Doctor Asenzi joined them.

“How is she doing?” Doctor Martin asked.

“Fine, she’s fine,” the assistant chief medical officer assured him. “You got her back just in time. We gave her the usual antihistamine treatment, with a healthy dose of stokaline for good measure, and she’s recovering nicely. She should wake up on her own in no time and give us grief.”

They laughed – with the exception of Selar, of course, who disapproved of talking about a senior officer in such a disrespectful manner – and then the computer alarm signalled that the first batch of vaccine was ready.

“Vaccination,” Doctor Asenzi declared, handing out little phials full of green liquid to the nurses and med techs to fill up their injectors. “God, I _love_ this word!”

“We all do, Ismail,” Doctor Martin said. “Let’s hope no-one else is allergic to Aldebaran moss.”

 *** * * * * * * * * * * * * * * ***  
To their relief, the first round of injections in the Intensive Care Area went without problems. It worked so well indeed that Riker felt shortly thereafter strong enough to stand up and return to the Bridge – much to the dismay of his doctors.

Picard, on the other hand, showed unabashed relief upon his return.

“It’s good to see you on your feet again, Number One,” he said. “I only wish the circumstances were better.”

“Is there a new problem?” Riker asked. “I am told that the disease is now under control.”

“Which would be fantastic, if we weren’t in danger of falling out of orbit and burning up in the atmosphere, together with the ship,” Picard replied dryly.

Riker frowned. “What happened? I must admit that I was in no condition to follow the events on board and make a picture about our situation… until now.”

“Crewman Hodel managed to escape from Sickbay and reach the Auxiliary Control Room before Security could have hunted him down,” Picard summarised for him. “Then he rerouted warp- and environmental systems to the Battle Bridge and caused our orbit to break up, in the firm belief that a quick death would be better for us all.”

“And without Medical having come up with the vaccine I might even agree,” Riker said darkly, remembering his fever-induced nightmares. “Is there anything we can do to save the ship – and ourselves?”

“Lieutenant LaForge has come up with a somewhat risky theory how to do exactly that,” Picard replied, still a little bid doubtful about the outcome. “He and Mr Argyle are about to work out the details with Data’s help.”

“Data says it’s doable?” Riker wasn’t an engineer but hat a fairly good understanding about the working of the board systems. 

He also knew that the android, although not an engineer either, understood them even better.

Picard nodded. “So does Mr Argyle… in theory. The catch is to get all the details worked out and programmed correctly in time; time that we don’t have. It is a delicate maneuver with no margin for errors.”

“I see.” 

Riker was tempted to walk up to the trio huddled over Science Station One but withstood the urge. He could not help them – this level of programming skills was way above his abilities – and his presence might have broken their concentration. _That_ was something to be avoided at all costs.

So he took his seat next to the captain’s chair and began to check the incoming reports on the small screen embedded in the armrest of his chair. Not that it would be of any help, but at least it was something to _do_.

Finally, what seemed eternity but took probably no longer than ten or twelve minutes, Data and LaForge returned to their respective positions at Ops and Conn.

“We can give it a try now, Captain,” Chief Engineer Argyle reported.

“What are our chances?” Picard asked.

The bearded face of the chief engineer was grim.

“At the very best fifty-fifty, sir,” he admitted. “And that only with Commander Data at Ops and Lieutenant LaForge at the conn. We’ve done our best to take every possible variable under consideration, but the honest truth is, there could be aspects we haven’t thought of. This isn’t something that would have done before.”

“Actually, Captain Kirk did something similar with the original _Enterprise_ when they got trapped in the past,” Data began, but the captain stopped him with a raised hand.

“Not now, Data. Mr Argyle, do we have any other choice to save the ship?”

“No, sir… save for divine intervention.”

“Where is a Q when you need one?” Riker muttered under his breath.

Picard gave him a decidedly unfriendly look.

“I’d rather take my chances with Geordi’s idea, if you don’t mind, Number One,” he turned back to the chief engineer. “Very well, Mr Argyle. We’ll give it a try. I prefer to go down fighting to waiting for the inevitable helplessly.”

“Aye, sir. Commander Data will direct the maneuver, since he has the shortest reaction time of us all; including the computer.”

It made sense. The computer might have the greater – _much_ greater – capacity, but Data’s positronic brain enabled him to react to the unexpected in a creative way. Like a human would, just much, much faster.

“Make it so,” Picard ordered.

Argyle fished some cables from a locker, opened up Data’s skull at the back of his head and created an interface with the navigational computer. The android blinked several times, adjusting to the data stream, and then nodded.

“I have access,” he said. “Initiating slingshot maneuver in three… two… one… _now_.”

Geordi, his forehead shining with stress-induced perspiration, touches several control pads on his instrumental board in a highly unusual pattern. At least Riker, who could also pilot a spacecraft if he absolutely had to (although he gladly let more experienced pilots do the work whenever he could), had never seen the like before.

The great starship lurched in a rather abrupt manner. Everyone but Geordi and Data tried to find something to hold to… with mixed results.

“Sorry,” the chief engineer said. “The inertial dampers are reacting sluggishly. God only knows what Hodel had done before they peeled him out of the Battle Bridge.”

“Our vector is still too steep,” Data interrupted him. “Geordi, modify course to 2.76 by 2.58 Gamma.”

“Acknowledged,” LaForge made the requested modifications but the android was still not satisfied.

“Not enough. Guidance control is faulty. I will try to keep us on course by taking over directly. Modify course to 1.78 by 146 Delta.”

Geordi looked at him in barely veiled shock. “Data, if I do that, we’ll bounce back from the stratosphere of the planet and break into pieces!”

“No, we will not. I have it under control, but you must modify the course or I will not be able to keep the vector stable.”

“Do it, Mr LaForge,” Picard ordered, hoping by God that the android knew what he was doing.

He usually did, but there was a first time for everything.

“Aye, sir,” Geordi replied crisply and did as he’d been told.

The _Enterprise_ lurched again, even more violently than before. For an extremely tense moment or two it felt as if the ship would shake itself apart. But after a particularly rough lurch the shaking stopped entirely and the external cameras that had been copped to the main viewer previously showed that they were in space again, having narrowly escaped destruction, Aldebaran IV a slowly retreating ball beneath them.

“Phew!” Geordi wiped his forehead with the sleeve of his uniform jacket. “That was close. Too close for comfort, to be honest. I was afraid you won’t be able to keep us on course, Data.”

There was no answer. He swivelled his seat around and saw, to his dismay, that the android was hanging sideways from his chair like a broken doll, his yellow eyes wide open and unseeing. The interface cable attached to his brain was still pulsing with energy.

“Data?” Geordi hesitantly reached out to disconnect the table, but the android did not wake up. “Data, what’s wrong?”

“Temporary overload,” Chief Engineer Argyle diagnosed, scanning Data’s brain with a long, slender instrument. “Small wonder; his positronic brain may be a cybernetic wonder, but it still wasn’t made to replace the guidance control of a _Galaxy_ -class starship.”

“Can you fix him?” Picard asked.

The chief engineer nodded. “Sure. Fortunately, he’s gone into emergency shutdown to protect his more sensitive systems. We’ll take him to the lab, run a full diagnostic, and when we restart him, he’ll be right as rain.”

“I can do that,” Geordi offered. “Data has taught me a great deal about himself; and you’ll be needed by the damage repairs of the ship itself.”

“Agreed,” Argyle turned to Picard. “Captain, I suggest that we take advantage of the fact that we are currently in the Aldebaran system. The _New Aberdeen Shipyards_ may no longer be the main starship building facility of the Federation, but their drydock is still one of the best in the entire quadrant.”

“Very well,” Picard looked at the replacement pilot at the conn. “Take course to Aldebaran Three, full impulse.”

“Aye, sir,” Ensign Carey said crisply and engaged.


	10. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I always wondered how Geordi ended up as Chief Engineer, starting in Season 2. We never really got an answer to that, so I came up with my own solution.  
> Commander Maddox’s only appearance was in the episode “The Measure of a Man”.

*** * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
EPILOGUE**

Six weeks later the _Enterprise_ was ready to leave the orbit of Aldebaran III. The complete diagnostic run at the _The New Aberdeen Shipyards_ had shown that the damage the ship had suffered were more severe than thought: several dilithium crystals were cracked and had to be replaced; the guidance control computers had to be overhauled and reprogrammed from the scratch. There was a lot of damage to the Auxiliary Control Room, beyond the entrance hatch that had to be cut open.

“A good thing that we already had replacement crystals; the ones originally meant for the _Beagle_ ,” Chief Engineer Argyle said on the last staff meeting before they would leave orbit. “That sped up the process considerably.”

Picard nodded in agreement. “True enough. So, are we ready to leave?”

“Whenever you give the word, sir.”

“And I can’t persuade you to change your mind?”

Argyle shook his head. “No, Captain. My tour is over, and I feel like settling down. Twenty-eight years in deep space have been enough.”

“Are you returning to Rigel VI?” Picard knew that Blake Argyle and his spouse had their official residence on that planet.

The chief engineer shook his head again. “Actually, sir, we’re temporarily relocating to Mars, although we’ll keep our first residence, just in case.”

“To _Mars_?” Picard echoed in mild surprise.

“I’ve been offered a job in the _Daystrom Institute of Technology_ , to work with the Cybernetics Division, and Jim was also promised a position there,” Argyle explained. “Apparently, my work with Commander Data, especially the comparative studies I was able to do between him and Lore, waked the interest of Commander Maddox, who currently holds the Chair of Robotics.”

“Well, I presume congratulations are in order, then,” Picard said. “This is a tremendous opportunity for you to make yourself a name in your chosen field. Even if it leaves us without a chief engineer; _and_ an assistant chief engineer.”

“If I may make a suggestion, sir?”

“Certainly. You know your people and their abilities the best.”

“I believe that Lieutenant Singh will be perfectly suited for the position of the assistant chief engineer,” Argyle said. “And as for my job, you should give it to Lieutenant LaForge.”

“ _Me_?” Geordi echoed in shocked surprise. ”I’m a pilot, not an engineer.”

Argyle shrugged. “You minored in Engineering at the Academy, and I’ve checked your credentials, which are excellent. You have a good sense for the board systems; better than anyone with the exception of Commander Data.”

“But I am just a junior-lieutenant,” LaForge pointed out. “I can’t occupy a senior position.”

Argyle shrugged again. “Well, it’s high time for you to be promoted, in my opinion. Your plan has saved ship and crew, after all; if _that_ isn’t a good reason to promote somebody, I don’t know what is.”

Picard nodded. “That is an excellent suggestion, Mr Argyle. I’ll consult Starfleet Command, and if we get the nod, which I presume we will, that is what we’ll do.”

Riker grinned at LaForge who still couldn’t quite believe his ears. “Chief Engineer… it does have a nice sound, doesn’t it?”

Geordi just nodded, grinning over both ears. Being the chief pilot of a _Galaxy_ -class starship wasn’t a small feat already, especially for a man with artificial eyesight, but becoming its chief engineer… other people worked for decades for a chance like that!

Riker then turned to Picard. “Captain, what do you intend to do about Crewman Hodel?”

“Nothing,” Picard replied simply. “He was clearly acting under the influence of the virus; what happened wasn’t his fault.”

“One could say that Wesley was under the same influence when attacking Doctor Ames,” Pulaski, also recovered from her allergic reaction to the vaccine, pointed out.”

“Which is why he’s been released from the brig as soon as the immediate danger was over,” Picard replied. “However, I believe we should seriously consider giving him some formal training. I’ll leave it in your capable hands, Number One.”

Everyone present carefully avoided looking at the first officer.

“I’m not a teacher, Captain!” the man in question protested.

“I don’t expect _you_ to teach him,” Picard returned. “I want you to organize and supervise his training. I’m sure Counselor Troi will be able to support you in your efforts,” he added with a half-smile, which Troi returned.

“Gladly, Captain.”

“Good; then it’s settled,” Picard rose from his seat at the head of the conference table. “Inform everyone still on shore leave on Aldebaran III that we’ll leave orbit tomorrow at oh-eight hundred. Dismissed.”

The senior officers left the briefing room, one after another. Data, now back to his usual intrepid self, happened to end up in the same turbolift cabin as Doctor Pulaski, and the doctor’s next words to him revealed that this had _not_ been a coincidence.

“Commander,” she began, “I want to apologise for what I said to you on the surface of Aldebaran IV. I could seek for excuses, say that I was under the influence of the virus, but the sad truth is that I tend to be prejudiced from time to time. I was way out of line and for that I’m sorry.”

Data blinked – twice! – to analyse what was said; human emotions were still a puzzle for him. But in the end he believed he understood the true meaning of Pulaski’s words.

“There are times we all do things we regret,” he quoted a statement he had heard during his sociology class, back at Starfleet Academy. “It is, after all, what makes us… human.”

~The End~

Soledad Cartwright@10.02.2018.


End file.
